


Tumble Through Time

by RenkonNairu



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Comic Book Science, Daddy Issues, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Gen, I just wanted to write a fic in which Barron Battle mistakenly believes Will is also his son, Past Fic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: An accident in Mr. Medulla's lab accidentally hurls Warren and Will backwards in time. They have to be very careful not to come into contact with their parents, lest they mess up the time stream.
Relationships: Barron Battle/Ms. Peace, Warren Peace & Will Stronghold
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	1. Fish Outta Time

Both Phoenix and the Lieutenant rubbed their eyes. Dizzy, confused, and a little disoriented. But otherwise unharmed. 

“Urgh! What was that light?” Demanded the Lieutenant, rubbing his eyes that were still pinched shut tight. 

“If I knew that, Stronghold, I would have avoided it!” Phoenix snarled back. He was glad he kept his hair so long. At the moment, his head bent down, the long straight locks were doing a better job of filtering out light than the lenses of his mask were. 

Blinking to clear his vision, Phoenix looked up at their surroundings. 

They were not where they were mere seconds ago. 

Before the bright flash, they were in Mr. Medulla’s lab. They were both out of school, but it was Stronghold’s first year as a superhero and he still hadn’t built up a network of resources and allies to go to when he needed help on cases outside his expertise. When Stronghold –and the Lieutenant- came across a piece of technology he didn’t understand, he brought it to their old Mad Science teacher from school, Mr. Medulla. 

Warren, that is, the superhero Phoenix, happened to be working the case with him and hadn’t yet acquired a tech expert of his own. So, they both went to Medula together, hoping the older super could help them solve their case. 

While Medulla was tinkering with the evidence they brought him, Stronghold examined the lab. 

It was Mr. Medulla’s personal lab, built in the garage of his private home. The mad scientist equivalent of a ‘Secret Sanctum’. And it was full of all kinds of interesting tech and half-made inventions. Stronghold looked at a pair of teleporter booths, a robot nanny, a gargoyle-shaped exo-suit, several various ‘doomsday devices’, and one cobweb covered corner that was roped off with a note saying ‘time traveler landing area, keep clear’. 

Flanking the roped off corner, positioned at an odd angle and plugged into an independent power source, were two free-standing polls. Thick, wide polls that could almost be classified as ‘pillars’, they looked so thick. And each one was topped by some kind of radio dish. Both pointing down and angled at the roped off corner. 

“Huh.” Will looked at the machines curiously. “You think this is a real time machine?”

He reached a hand out to touch the device. 

Phoenix, seeing this out of the corner of his eye, leapt across the room to stop his friend. Didn’t anyone ever tell him never to touch weird tech in a mad scientist’s lab!? That was like, rule number three on the list of superhero rules. Number one: Do Not Kill. Number two: don’t do crimes. Number three: if a made scientist made it, don’t touch it!

But Phoenix stumbled on a heavy cable running across the floor and collided with the other hero. They both went rolling into the corner, just as Will flicked the machine switch that read ON. 

There was a flash of blinding light and then-

The two found themselves here. 

In the corner of an empty room that looked like it might have been a vacant… garage. Okay, so they were still in a garage. But it was not Mr. Medulla’s mad-science-lab-garage. It was just a normal, mundane, empty garage. 

His own eyes adjusting from the blinding flash, Stronghold walked over to the corrugated roll-up door of the garage and lifted it just enough to see outside. 

They were, in fact, in the garage of a private home. A house on a wide residential street in a suburb of some kind. And on the lawn, was a For Sale sign with a bold sticker slapped across it that read ‘SOLD’. (And it was not a Stronghold & Stronghold Realty sign.)

“You think that was a teleporter ray?” Will suggested. 

Warren pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stronghold, didn’t you read the sign?” He groaned. “It said something about time travel. Or whatever. Medula’s lab is in his garage, and we’re still in a garage. We didn’t get teleported any ‘where’ we were teleported any ‘when’.”

Will just flashed him a skeptical frown. “Are you sure? I mean, time travel seems kinda…” He let the through trail off. 

Letting go of his nose bridge and readjusting his mask, Phoenix fixed the younger man with a level glare. Putting all the severity he could muster into the expression. The villains in his own rogues gallery found the expression very intimidating and had dubbed it his ‘Phoenix Glare’. The dark hero of flame could be very scary when he wanted to be. 

But it was considerably less intimidating on a best friend and superhero partner. 

“Keep in mind I’ve been doing this a whole year longer than you have.” Phoenix reminded him. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, the Lieutenant glared back at him. Unimpressed. 

“It means I have more experience than you.” Phoenix explained. “Isn’t that why you partnered with me in the first place? Because you wanted to work with a more seasoned hero?”

Although, having only one extra year of experience did not exactly make Phoenix ‘seasoned’. 

“Actually…” Will had to admit, twiddling his fingers awkwardly. “It was because I didn’t wanna work with my parents anymore, but my mom didn’t feel comfortable with me working alone. So, I told her I’d partner up with one of my friends.”

Phoenix just stared at him for a moment through the whited out eye-sockets of his mask. He didn’t know what to say to that exactly. Stronghold only wanted to work with him because his mommy didn’t want him to work as a superhero alone, he didn’t actually partner up with Phoenix because he wanted to. On the other hand, out of their entire group of friends, the only one of them that Stronghold chose to work with was him. Phoenix had mixed feelings about that. 

He decided not to think about the contradicting implications about how Will felt about him and focused on the matter at hand. 

“Let’s just assume I’m right –because I will be right when we step out of this garage- and try to find out what year it is.” Phoenix announced. 

“Okay, fine.” Nodded the Lieutenant. 

They slipped out of the empty garage, ducking under the roll-up door the Lieutenant had raised. 

It was mid-day, so the majority of the driveways were empty. Adults being at work. Children being at school. The only people at home, the elderly that rarely left their homes at all, and a couple of stay-at-home wives here and there. 

The street was a well landscaped and almost perfectly uniform suburb, ending in a cul-de-sac. 

A few eyes peeked through their curtains, or from behind their blinds at the two strangers dressed in costumes dart out of the vacant house on the block. 

One dressed in all black –like a supervillain- black body suit, black armor plates, black utility belt, black mask. The only color on his costume, a red bird on his chest, the wings rising up over his shoulders and turning into stripes that went all the way down his arms to end in stripes on his fingers. They did not recognize the costume. But then, he looked young. Some new supervillain the news hadn’t caught wind of yet and reported on. 

The other, however, looked more like a hero. Mostly white unitard. Red and blue stripes on his chest, torso, forearms, and thighs. White, red and blue, common colors for super heroes. Jetstream’s colors were white, red, and blue. Sonic Boom’s colors were navy blue, white, and red. The Commander’s colors were also white, red, and royal blue. In fact, this other hero even had the same rampart symbol on his chest, same as the Commander. But this kid was not the Commander. The Commander didn’t wear a mask, a person could always see his face. This kid wasn’t wearing a mask either, and it was easy to tell that it was not the same face. The other stranger might be a hero, but they were not the Commander. 

But, they were trailing after a villain. 

Something was going down. And those nosy neighbors peeking out their windows did the only thing suburbanites did when there was someone suspicious lurking around the neighborhood. They picked up their phone. 

Phoenix grabbed the first newspaper he found. Sticking out of someone’s bushes, the paper guy having missed the front porch of the house they found it on. 

The fact that newspapers were even a thing at all should have been proof enough that they had time traveled, but for good measure, Phoenix unrolled to paper to show the exact date. 

June 9, 1988

1988

They had gone back in time twenty-two years. 

Phoenix rolled the paper back up and set it on the porch where the resident of the house would find it. Then he looked back at the Lieutenant and tried not to look smug. He did tell him so, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud. 

“Alright. So, we time traveled.” The Lieutenant crossed his arms over his chest. “Does that mean you know how to get us back home?”

Phoenix opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it again, realizing he did not actually know how to get them back to their own time. He crossed his arms over his chest and thought. When he and Winter (his now-ex-girlfriend with ice powers) were hurled forward in time last fall it was because they were caught up in a sorcerer’s magic spell. Once they figured that out, it was just a matter of finding a super with magic-based powers to perform the same spell for them, only backwards. 

This time, it was not magic that sent them careening through time. It was technology. Some kind of disused time machine in Mr. Medulla’s home lab. But the home lab was not here in 1988. Mr. Medulla did not live in that house yet. In fact, Phoenix wasn’t sure if Medula even lived in Maxville yet by that point. Rumor had it he was originally from out of town and only moved to Maxville when he was hired on as a teacher at Sky High. Before that, Phoenix had no idea where Medulla lived or where he was from. 

“We need to find someone who knows about time travel.” Phoenix decided, more thinking out loud than forming anything resembling an actual ‘plan’. Then he remembered something his dad told him years, and year, and years ago –back when his dad was still around and able to tell him things. About a super that matched other supers with jobs and jobs with supers. A sort of ‘middle man’ for the powered community in Maxville. A ‘Broker’, if you would. “Or, we go to someone who knows how to find someone who knows about time travel.”

“Okay, but how do we-?”

The Lieutenant didn’t get to finish the question. 

A blast of sound came reverberating down the street and nocked both men off their feet. Both Phoenix and the Lieutenant fell back-flat on the sidewalk. 

The Lieutenant was the first to recover. He climbed back to his feet and looked in the direction the sound-based attack had come from. He was not expecting to recognize who he saw. 

The costume was something he’d only seen in pictures. Another variant on the blue, white, and red color scheme. But then, a lot of the heroes that were active in the seventies and eighties really liked to push the patriotic colors. There was a bit of a Cold War going on. But it was not the costume that gave away the identity of their attacker. It was the powers, and the face. 

About twenty years younger than he looked when Will first met him in his freshman year. But still recognizable. That was Coach Boomer. If this really was 1988, then he was still active as the superhero Sonic Boom. 

And he had just attacked them. 

“Got a call about suspicious characters skulking around, causing trouble.” Announced Sonic Boom. (Phoenix and the Lieutenant had caused no trouble, people in the suburbs just like the call the cops for bullshit reasons.) “And lookie what I find. An unknown super, and a brand new supervillain.” 

“Coach B-“ Lieutenant was about to gasp. But Phoenix grabbed his hand, pulling the other man close and covering his mouth with his finger-striped glove. 

“Shut-up, idiot!” Phoenix hissed in his ear. “He can’t know we’re from the future. Haven’t you ever seen literally any movie!?”

The Lieutenant’s eyes went wide with the sudden realization. They covered this in school. Going back in time and accidentally changing things. Creating paradoxes and breaking the universe. They had to be careful. The Lieutenant nodded his understanding. 

Then grabbed Phoenix, sweeping the other man off his feet. 

The Lieutenant leapt up into the air and flew away. 

A rush of air. A blur of colors and motion. By this point in their friendship, Warren was kind used to being swept off his feet and jerked around by Stronghold. That still didn’t mean he enjoyed it, and he was almost sick. It took every ounce of his self-control to not be sick all over his best friend. 

When Phoenix was confident he wasn’t about to puke all over his partner, he noticed where they were flying. “Stronghold!” He shouted to be heard over the rush of wind. “Will! You can’t run home! Your parents don’t know who you are, and they might not even live there yet! You could be barging in on some random stranger!”

Hearing that, and realizing it was true, the Lieutenant slowed, decelerating until they came to a full stop. Hovering in the air above the city. 

“Where should we go?” He asked. 

Before Phoenix could suggest an answer, another superhero came careening at them and almost collided with them. 

“One-side rookie!” Shouted a woman flying up from the city. Wearing a tight, two-piece costume. A mid-rift top, long sleeved and high collared, but cut very, very high so that it threatened to expose her under-boob if she bent the wrong way. The flat plain of her belly was exposed. Even olive skin, no tan lines, no blemishes, only a gold belly ring set with a red stone that sparkled in the mid-day light. And short-shorts, so short, her butt cheeks hung out of the back. 

She appeared to be dodging spears of ice being thrown at her from another female super on a roof below. The flying female super lit her arms on fire and threw fireballs of her own at the ice projectiles, each attack bursting into steam upon interception and collision. 

This had to be Flamebird. A female superhero with the dual powers of flight and pyrokinesis. She was also the mother of Warren Peace. 

Phoenix and the Lieutenant just stared at her. 

“If you’ve already caught your villain, take him into the closest police precinct for booking!” Flamebird barked at them from over her shoulder. The majority of her attention was on her own villain she was fighting. “Don’t just hover there gawking at my ass!”

Yup. That was Warren’s mom alright.

The Lieutenant might have muttered something incomprehensible in response. But she wasn’t paying attention to them anymore anyway. Will flew them out of the way of Flamebird’s fight and down closer to the skyline of the city. Hoping to avoid running into anyone else they knew in their own time in the past (in the present?) by hiding between the buildings.

Will set Warren down on a low rooftop, feeling oddly short of breath. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he was nervous and scared. They really were in the past. 1988, that was before either of them were born. They could really mess things up if they did the wrong thing. They could really, really, really mess things up. Like, the erase one of both of them from existence so that they’re never born kind of mess things up!

Will didn’t realize just how bad he was freaking out until he felt Warren place one hand on his shoulder, and the other over his heart. Feeling the older man pressing some heat into his core. 

“Easy there, Stronghold.” He said, uncharacteristically soothingly for him. “Breath. Just breath. Deep breaths. In… and out… good, now another one, in…”

Finally, when he was calm enough to talk about, Will asked the same question for a third time. “What do we do?”

This time, before even beginning to answer, Warren first look side to side to see if any other supers whom were active in this decade were about to appear on the scene and interrupt them. He checked up and down too, just to cover his bases on flyers. Finally, Warren turned his attention back to his friend. 

“My dad used to talk about a super that helped out other supers.” He began. “He’s not a superhero, but he’s not a supervillain either. He works with both, and helps people with superpowers find jobs and stuff.”

“How does that help us?” Will asked. If this was a person Barron Battle knew, could they really even be trusted? Barron Battle was supposed to be some big, awful, and terrifying supervillain. Warren could say some guy his dad used to know wasn’t a supervillain, but that didn’t mean it was true. Also, how good was Warren’s memory of the things his dad used to tell him? Warren hadn’t seen Barron Battle in ten years. Not since he was nine years old. Warren only had a child’s memories of his father. 

“It helps us because this guy could probably find us a Mad Scientist to make a forward time machine to send us home.” Phoenix tried to explain. “Unless you wanna spend the rest of your life here in 1988. I mean, we could invest in Nokia or something and live a fairly comfortable life. But, we’d also run across our parents on a semi-regular basis.” 

They had already run into Warren’s mother. Warren’s father, and both Will’s parents lived in this city too. And supers tended to intersect with other supers. One way or another, eventually, all people with superpowers –be they hero or villain- came to know each other. Superhumans might actually be the only community in the world in which everyone really did know everyone. (Partially because they all went to the same high school together.) 

“Okay.” Will nodded, realizing that Warren’s plan was really the only one they had. “Did your dad tell you where to find this super match-maker guy?”


	2. Divide Between Heroes and Villains

It was mid-day on a weekday, Mara would be at her day-job. So, Battle took a cab home from the airport. 

He nodded at the doorman who rushed forward to get his carry-on out of the trunk for him, then tipped the other man with a wad of bills as he passed him holding the door open. Crossing the lobby, he was glad to get in the elevator alone. After being stuck on an airplane for the past nine hours, the last thing he wanted was to be in another cramped space with complete strangers. 

Battle didn’t actually relax, like, relax-relax for real until he was shutting and locking the door to his condo behind him. He breathed in the familiar scent of home. 

Specifically, the scent of ‘home after he’d been gone for a while and Mara was alone for a week’. A blend of unwashed dishes sitting in stagnant sink water, the stale body odor of clothing left all over the floor, and female body products (Mara liked to spray her perfumes around the unit in place of actual cleaning). Battle inhaled deeply, the distinct blend of smells calming him in a way he never would have expected. He was home. Not because this was his condo and he owned the space, but because this was where Mara Peace lived.

Picking up women’s clothing as he crossed the wide, ‘open floorplan’ living room on his way to the bedroom, Battle felt the cargo he’d smuggled in his abdomen with every bend. He couldn’t wait to cut it out of himself. But he also couldn’t leave dirty laundry all over his floors. When he got into the bedroom, the bed was unmade, and that had to be remedied as well. 

That done, he was going to head straight to the bathroom and cut himself open to get the item out from between his organs. 

But, then he caught the tower of dirty dishes out the corner of his eye. Then he couldn’t just ignore those. Knowing they needed to be cleaned but weren’t, would bug him like crazy. He would not be able to perform surgery on himself knowing there was still cleaning to be done. His fingers practically itched. He needed to wash them. 

It was as he was washing the week-tall towers of plates and silver wear that Flamebird drifted in through the open balcony doors. 

“You’re home early.” He commented, smiling at her over a mound of fluffy soap suds. 

She was wearing her Flamebird costume. A tight, little, two-piece number. Short little booty shorts that showed off the cheeks of her butt in the back, with a low waist that showed off her belly piercing and abs. The top was long sleeved and high collared, but also high cut, showing off her ribs. The band of the hem cutting off just below the under-boob. 

She was soaking wet. Her hair a tangled mess, blown out by her flying. She held her mask in one hand, and her makeup was runny, smudged, and dripping off her face. 

“Bambi, you’re home!” She flew over the kitchen bar and hugged him over the sink. Adding a layer of soap bubbled to the front of her costume. She kissed him passionately, smearing some of her already ruined makeup onto his face. “You will not believe the day I’ve had!”

She pulled away from him, beginning to peel off her costume as she did so. Leaving each article on the floor, forming a trail behind her as she moved to the bathroom. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” Battle called across the condo. As soon as he finished these dishes, he was going to have to pick up the living room again. 

“Okay, so,” she began, shouting to be heard from the bathroom. (She left the door open and Battle could just see the curve of her ass as she bent over the sink washing her face.) “I’m on my lunch break, minding my own business, when out of nowhere Iciclette shows up! She’s trying to rob the diamond exchange that’s by my work. So, obviously, I have to step in and do something about it.”

She stepped out of the bathroom, face clean and hair brushed, and completely naked. Battle appreciated the sight. In her costume as Flamebird, in her civilian clothes as Mara Peace, or just wearing nothing at all, she was always a vision. 

Mara left the bedroom door open too, while she looked for fresh clothes to change into. “Oh! You cleaned up in here!”

“Just a little.” He called back to her. He was almost done with the dishes and was about to start picking up the new trail of clothes. 

“So, anyway, I’m fighting Iciclette, and I’m flying, and from out of nowhere this utterly green kid is just there. Like, right in my flightpath! And I almost collide with him! –Hey, Bambi, have you seen my yellow cardigan?”

“It’s in the laundry.” He answered as he picked up her discarded costume from the floor. He groaned, coming up from how he had bent, one hand going to his side. The cargo he smuggled in was digging into his kidney now. “How about that low-cut sweater that frames your boobs really nicely? I like that one.”

“That’s not even close to what I was originally wearing to work this morning, but okay.” She sighed. There was the sound of rustling fabric and knit fibers being pulled over skin. “So, anyway,” she continued, “I almost collide with this kid, and he looks fresh out of school, like, he has no idea what he’s doing! And he’s already holding a supervillain, so he’s beat his bad guy. He’s done. But he’s just hovering there, like he has no idea what he’s doing or even where he is.”

Battle shook his head. Feeling bad for the nameless supervillain that was caught by such a hapless and unskilled sounding superhero. 

“I told him where to go and what to do.” Mara came out of the bedroom, dressed in civilian clothes, ready to go back to work. She hadn’t reapplied her makeup, but other than that, she looked like any other unassuming and powerless mundane in the city. “But then, because they distracted me, Iciclette was able to get in a few hits. I beat her, but I couldn’t go back to work looking the way I did. As soon as I dropped her off at the Six-Nine to be booked, I had to come home and change.”

“Did you at least get to eat lunch?” Battle asked. 

Mara shrugged. “I had a couple bites of my sandwich.” She floated up to give him another kiss on the lips. “Welcome home, Bambi. Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

Then she flew back out the open balcony. 

Battle sighed. 

He had absolutely no idea why that woman made him so happy. She was a hero and he was a villain. She was an absolute mess, leaving her clothes everywhere, cosmetic products strewn over the bathroom counter, never made the bed, did laundry only when she had literally nothing left to wear but her Flamebird costume, and never washed a dish in her whole life. While he was very clean. If something was dirty, or messy, he could not do other –fun- things until the mess had been cleaned. She was utterly shameless, walking around the condo naked as a jaybird with the balcony doors wide open so that any flying super that happened by could see her. While he had a more conservative up bringing and felt indecent walking around in just sweatpants without a shirt, in his own home, even when alone. 

They were very, very different. 

But, damn it all to hell, Barron Battle was in love with that hot mess of a woman!

He threw her discarded Flamebird costume in the hamper with the rest of the laundry, straightened the drawers that she had left hanging open, then –finally- made his way into the bathroom to cut the cargo he smuggled out of him. 

Stepping into the bathtub, he pulled the plastic shower curtain around him to keep the splatter to a minimum. Wiped the area he planned to cut down with alcohol. Then took one of his knives and sliced into himself. 

Battle had to work quickly. His super power was Quick Recovery. All wounds and injuries healed almost instantly. When he was out on his jobs, doing his supervillain work, it was the best superpower ever. He could get shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, poisoned, even drowned once, and still just get up and keep going. He could also cut open his body and hide small objects in his soft-tissue, the skin healing over it instantly, hiding the fact that there was anything contraband inside him at all. 

Fingers sliding between kidney and spleen, feeling for the –literal- rock he’d shoved in there before leaving Angola. 

Battle pulled out a blood-covered diamond. 

He took a moment, breathing against the pain. Wounds might heal instantly, but that didn’t mean they didn’t still hurt! 

When the hole in his side closed, and he felt all his organs shift back into their correct place and repair any damage, he sighed. Turning on the shower, Battle cleaned the bathtub of any evidence that he’d ever sliced into a human body at all. The tub looked sparkling, almost show-room new, when he finally turned the water off and stepped out. Still holding the diamond in one hand. 

A raw, uncut stone. Just a little larger than his thumb nail. By the time it was cut and polished, it would probably be just a little bit smaller than his thumb nail. But for a diamond, that was still freakin’ huge! 

He hoped Mara liked it. 

Battle was planning to propose. Soon. In the very near future. He didn’t care that she was a hero. Barron Battle wanted to spend the rest of his life with Mara Peace. 

He just hoped she felt the same way he did and would say ‘yes’. She was a superhero, after all. She might not want to marry and settle down with a supervillain. 

They were on opposite ends of the moral divide, after all. 

…

Will landed on the roof top Warren directed him to. A club in the middle of Downtown called ‘Divide’. 

Will had heard of Divide. It was still around in their time. Supposedly, it was a dance club that was frequented by supers –both hero and villain. It was very popular with the tourist crowd. Everyone from out of town liked the idea of being able to say they danced with American Alien, or the Commander, or whatever superhero was most popular at the time. Will just didn’t think it was true. He was pretty sure his dad had never been to a nightclub in his life, never mind this specific nightclub. 

Warren tried to open the roof access door. 

But it was locked. 

A panel in the door, set at eye-level slid open and a pair of eyes peered out at them. “Roof access is for supers with appointments. Only.”

Both Warren and Will just stared. 

“Do you have an appointment?” Asked the one on the other side of the door. 

“How could we possibly have-“ Will began.

But Warren silenced him with another finger-striped glove over the mouth. “Tell the Broker we can trade him information about the future for his help.”

The eyes peering through the slat in the door narrowed at them. “What are you, some kinda oracle supers?”

“Does that matter?” Warren asked. 

“What names should I tell the Broker?” They asked, ignoring the question. Apparently, whether or not they were ‘oracles’ didn’t matter. The Broker would find out what they really were real fast. That was the Broker’s power. To see the truth of a person. 

“I’m Phoenix.” Said Warren. “And this is the Lieutenant.”

“Never heard of you!” Announced the one on the other side of the door. 

“And you won’t hear about us for another twenty-years or so.” Phoenix informed him. 

They muttered something about annoying time traveling kids before sliding the panel in the door shut again. 

Phoenix and the Lieutenant were left waiting on the roof, not even sure if the door keeper was even going to the Broker or not. For all they knew, they could be on the other side of the door, having a drink and laughing to their friends about the two young supers they just left out on the roof. 

Something streaked through the clouds overhead, flying fast enough to leave behind a streak of distorted air behind her. Jetstream. The Lieutenant felt relief wash over him at seeing his mother close. But then he remembered, she wasn’t his mother yet. It was still three years before he’d be born. His parents were probably dating by now, but the Lieutenant wasn’t sure if they were married yet –or even living together! His mental timeline of his parents’ relationship was a little incomplete. 

He cast a glance at his companion. What must Phoenix be thinking or feeling right now? It was only two years before he would be born and they nearly collided with his mother. Did she already know Barron Battle? Were they dating? Or was it more of like a ‘one night stand’ kind of thing and she wouldn’t meet him for another two years yet?

It was impossible to read Phoenix’s expression behind his mask. 

Finally, the door to the roof opened again. 

“The Broker will see you now.” Announced the roof access bouncer. 

They were led down a narrow service stair way to a hall way that looked like the back, business areas of the club. The bouncer opened a door that said ‘Staff Only’ and the two were shoved in. 

It turned out to be a cramped little office. There might have been a window, but it was covered by a wall of file cabinets. The majority of the room was taken up by a wide desk, currently piled with books that had several notes and post-its sticking out of them. Behind the desk were two different safes. Sitting at the desk was an old man wearing a shawl and an old thread-bare newsboy cap. 

The bouncer came in after Phoenix and the Lieutenant, shutting the door behind them, and staying at their backs. Just in case the pair decided to make trouble. 

It was very, very cramped inside the tiny office. 

The old man punched some numbers into an old adding machine. Old, even for 1988. He wrote down the sum the machine calculated for him, then made a notation on the page next to it. Then he closed the book –ledger, if he was writing figures and keep track of accounts in it, then it was a ledger- and looked up at Phoenix and the Lieutenant. 

He interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on his hands. “So, you boys have profitable knowledge about the future.”

“First of all, you wanna invest in Mac!” Blurted out the Lieutenant before Phoenix could stop him. 

“Mac?” The old man raised one eyebrow, not recognizing the name. Back in 1988, it was called ‘Apple Computer, Inc.’

“Stop giving stuff away from free, idiot!” Phoenix stepped in front of his friend. Placing himself between the Lieutenant and the old man. “Are you the Broker?”

“I am.” Nodded the old man, the Broker. 

“You find supers for jobs.” Continued Phoenix. He needed to make sure he got the right guy. He hadn’t seen his father in a decade and wasn’t sure if his adult mind was mixing up the stories from his childhood memories. 

The Broker looked them both up and down. One dressed all in black, traditionally villain colors. The other mostly white, but with the patriotic blue and red added for accent. They did not look like allies. Their colors would imply that they were enemies. But the way they acted towards each other, their body language, and the ease with which they moved around each other or touched each other. They were friends. A supervillain and a superhero that were friends. It wasn’t the weirdest villain-hero dynamic the Broker had witnessed. 

“You boys lookin’ for work?” He asked. 

“No.” The one dressed as a villain informed him. “We need you to find a mad scientist for us. In as payment, we can give you information about the future that you can profit from.”

The Broker held his gaze a moment longer. Then his eyes flicked to the first one who had spoken. The one that seemed so ready and willing to give away such valuable information for free. The one dressed as a hero. He seemed to have a hero’s naïve and trusting personality too. He was also not wearing gloves, while the darkly dressed one was. 

“You, other one, give me your hand.” The Broker extended his own hand across the desk, as if to shake. 

Not seeing any duplicity in the request, or even thinking to look for any, the Lieutenant leaned around Phoenix and took the old man’s hand in his own. 

With a strength the old man did not seem capable of, he pulled the Lieutenant closer to him. Almost pulling the boy all the way over the desk. The Lieutenant gasped, eyes going wide as they locked with the Broker’s. 

The old man’s eyes went… dark. Not, not completely black. The sclera was still white. But the pupil dilated so wide that there was no color left in them. Will stared into that deep abyss of darkness, and knew on some base, primal, instinctive level, that the abyss was staring back at him. The old man was using his superpower. Will didn’t know what it was, exactly. But, somehow, the Broker was learning everything about him. Even things that shouldn’t be possible for another person besides Will himself to know. 

Finally, the Broker let go of his hand. 

The Lieutenant stumbled back as far as he could go in the small space –which was basically just into Phoenix. Warren wrapped his arms around his friend, more to keep him balanced and to keep them both from falling over, than to offer any kind of comfort. Comforting thought it was to be held by a trusted friend right after having your very soul examined. 

“You boys are from the future.” Announced the Broker. “That’s why you need a mad scientist. You need one to get you home.”

The Lieutenant was still a little dazed from being Read, and Phoenix only glared. He did not much like the idea of being so well understood and… known. Especially not by someone that was essentially a stranger. 

The old man leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “As it so happens, I had already arranged for just such a person to come to town. He should be here some time before the end of the week. You know those eccentric genius types, never can get a solid date out of them. The real problem is making sure you two don’t cause and problems and disrupt the time stream while you’re here. You-“ he pointed to the Lieutenant “-are the son of the Commander and Jetstream. According to my information, they have only just started working together. Finding out they have a child together could scare them away and erase you from existence. We might also have to change your appearance a bit. You look too much like Jetstream.” He turned his attention to Phoenix. “And you- take off your glove and let me read you.”

Hesitating, Phoenix glanced at the Lieutenant, noting the affect the old man’s power had on his near-invulnerable friend. He decided he did not want the Broker to use his power on him. 

“No need.” Phoenix shook his head, taking off his mask and showing the Broker his face. The old man already knew he was from the future. What harm was there in showing him his real face? It wasn’t like this old buy would still be around to blab people’s identities twenty years from now. “I’m Barron Battle’s son.”

There was no indication of shock from the Broker and Phoenix wondered if his father knew the old man yet or not. If the old man knew Barron Battle, wouldn’t he be a little surprised to learn that he had a son in the future? But the Broker only appeared to be studying him. Re-examining his costume. Mostly black, a traditional villain color. But with a bird symbol on the chest, and a very clear fire aesthetic. 

“So, the pup actually married that bombshell of his.” The Broker announced. “Good for him!”

“You know his parents?” Asked the Lieutenant, sounding genuinely curious. 

“Yes.” Nodded the Broker. “And that’s going to be a problem. Battle and Flamebird are regulars here. We’re gonna have to hide you boys until the mad scientist arrives and can send you home.”


	3. Incorrect Assumptions

While they waited for the mad scientist that was already supposed to be on their way, the Broker put Will and Warren to work in the club. Divide served alcohol, but they were technically an 18 and up club. They checked IDs at the door and anyone under the age of 21 got a wrist band so the bartenders would know not to serve them alcohol. Both Will and Warren were still under 21 (18 and 19 respectively) and both were required to wear the wrist bands. 

Warren had previous experience as a porter at the Paper Lantern back in their own time, so he was sent to the kitchens. Washing dishes for both the cooking and bartending staff. Occasionally, he would go out and bus a table or two if he got stir-crazy in the back. But the Broker also told him that his parents were regulars at Divide, so he tried to keep these excursions down to a minimum. The last thing Warren wanted to do was bump into his parents before they could have the chance to conceive him and wipe himself out of existence. 

Will did not have any such work experience. He was still fresh out of high school. Hadn’t even passed the test for his realtor’s certification yet. He had literally no work experience to speak of. But he was strong and virtually indestructible thanks to his strength. Will was put to work as one of the bouncers covering the main door. Will was one of three bouncers at the main entrance, so it wasn’t like they just threw him out there alone with no idea what to do. 

He was actually doing a fairly good job too. Of course, it helped that the vast majority of people trying to get into Divide were all mundane tourist without superpowers who were just visiting Maxville because it was the ‘superhero capital of the world’. Most of them were more than happy to just show their ID, get a wrist band if they were under legal drinking age, pay their cover charge, and go inside. 

That was until Will recognized someone in line. 

He saw her hair before he saw her. A bright red. Not an earthy-red like Layla’s hair was red, this was a redder-than-fire-red. The same shade of red as the two streaks in Warren’s hair. Twenty years in the future, it was flecked with gray and cut short in a pixie-bob. Now, in 1988, it was long, strained and teased up into a classic 80s perm. Will recognized Mara Peace –Warren’s mother- before he recognized the man who had his arm around her. 

Tall, easily six feet. With dark hair in messy curls. A pair of wire framed glasses in front of his eyes. It took Will a moment longer to recognize him. He looked older than the one and only year book photo Will ever saw of him. Like Warren. If Warren had curly hair and wore glasses. Barron Battle. 

Warren’s parents. 

Both Warren’s parents were coming right towards him! 

Will hid behind one of the other bouncers. 

“…I’m not complaining, Sparky.” Battle was saying. “I just thought, when you said ‘go out for dinner’ you meant a place that served more than just hot wings and bar nuts.”

“They sell fries too.” Mara- Ms. Peace- Warren’s mom! replied. “Besides, this is ‘our place’. Where else would we go right after you get back into town?” A pause in which she flashed him a sly smile. “Why? Are you planning something… devious and supervillain-ish for tonight? Something that’ll get us in trouble? Something… dirty?”

Will watched Battle place a hand in the pocket of his jeans. In the pocket of his 80s, acid wash jeans. The fabric was tight enough that Will saw Battle’s hand fiddle with something he had in his pocket. Battle was planning something! Should he tell Warren? Barron Battle was a supervillain. Should they risk the time stream and interfere? Was Ms. Peace in danger?

The bouncer Will was trying to hide behind stopped the couple before they could enter. “Evening, Battle.”

“Hey, Gate!” Ms. Peace smiled up at the bouncer, practically hanging off of Barron Battle’s arm. “They got you babysitting the new hires?” She nodded to Will. Then paused, actually looking at him. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

She almost collided with him and Warren earlier that very same day. 

“No, ma’am.” Will shook his head. “I only just got here.”

“’Ma’am’?” She echoed, sounding insulted. “Do I look old enough to be a ‘ma’am’ to you!?”

Will winced. 

Next to her Battle laughed. He put an arm around her and bent down to place a kiss to her forehead. “Go easy on him, Sparky. He’s just a kid.”

Will felt suddenly and inexplicably disoriented. Did- did Barron Battle just stick up for him? That was not the ‘most evil since the invention of evil’ supervillain his parents described to him. It was all Will could do to stare in incomprehension. 

Battle tried to brush past him, but the other bouncer –Gate- stopped him again. “C’mon, Battle, you’re here all the time. You know the drill.”

Barron Battle heaved a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine…”

Reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket, Battle pulled out two trailing point knives, then two more from the other inside pocket of his jacket. Then tried to brush past. But he was stopped again. Rolling his eyes, Battle reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folding Swiss army knife. Then, from his sleeves, two spear point knives. From each boot a needle point knife. 

Gate glared down at the nine different knives Battle had surrendered. “Is that all of them?”

With a huff, Battle shrugged his whole jacket off his shoulders. “Here, just take the whole thing.”

He slammed the jacket down on top of the existing pile of knives. It made a louder THUMP than a normal leather jacket should have. Gate picked it up to examine it and saw there was an extra pocket sewn into the back that held a medium-sized kukri style blade. 

Gate only rolled his eyes, then looked to Ms. Peace. “This all of them, or does he have something buried in a kidney or something?”

Ms. Peace gave a shrug. “That’s all the ones I know about.” 

Unless he wanted to do a cavity search, there wasn’t much else Gate could do. He slid all of Battle’s knives and his jacket into a numbered basket and passed Battle a ticket with a matching number on it. “You know the drill. Collect your weapons and equipment when you exit.”

Battle took the weapon check ticket and pocketed it. He wrapped his arm back around Mara Peace and they went into the club. 

Will couldn’t help but notice that Battle never took anything out of the pocket that he was hiding the –something- in. The thing he fingered when Ms. Peace asked him if he were planning anything devious. 

The moment they were gone, Will excused himself. “Gotta go!”

He went to find Warren. 

It wasn’t even 8pm yet. The club had been open for three hours and only busy for the past thirty minutes. Yet, Warren was already elbows deep in sink suds, towers of beer tankards, pitchers, and tall glasses almost blocking him from view when Will barged into the kitchen. His hair pulled back in a tight bun, his eyes completely focused on his task. 

“We have a problem!” Will almost knocked over a tower of glasses. 

Warren had to do some quick juggling to catch them from shattering on the floor. 

“Your parents are here.” Will continued, whispering this time so that the rest of the kitchen staff did not overhear. “And you’re dad’s planning something.”

“Okay.” Warren did not seem to see a problem. At least, he did not look as concerned as Will was. “Stronghold, this is the year my parents got married. If he’s planning something, it’s probably the proposal.”

For half a moment, Will thought he must have misheard. His ears were playing tricks on him. A supervillain and a hero having a love-child was crazy enough. But a hero and a supervillain being… married? 

“Nothing bad will happen so long as I just stay back here.” Warren told him. “All we have to do is keep a low profile until the Broker’s mad scientist comes to town. Until then, don’t interfere with anyone’s parents –especially mine!”

Will was concerned by the fact that his friend was not concerned. His dad was a supervillain! A supervillain! That meant he was a bad guy! Shouldn’t Warren at least want to make sure that what he was told about his parent’s relationship was actually the truth and not some… edited and cleaned version of what really went down?

For his friend’s sake, Will decided to keep an eye on his parents. To make sure Barron Battle didn’t do anything… evil to Warren’s mother. 

He grabbed a rag and pretended to wipe the bar down as Battle ordered a fruity alcoholic drink for Ms. Peace and just a regular coke for himself. So, he was planning on getting Warren’s mother drunk, while he stayed sober. So that he could take advantage of her most likely. Was that how Warren was made? The villain! 

Will collected empty glasses or abandoned looking drinks from the tables surrounding the one where Mara Peace was ordering a plate of hot wings, ‘extra spicy please!’ (fire users liked it hot). When he was carrying too many glasses to be able to pick up any more and maintain the pretense, Will returned to the kitchen to report to Warren. 

“I said leave them alone, Stronghold!” Warren hissed over the sink. “My parents aren’t dumb. They’re gonna notice you following them and then it’s just a question of who confronts you first, and if you get burned or stabbed.”

Will understood his friend’s warnings. And he was taking them to heart. Really. But, he was also warry and skeptical of Barron Battle’s intensions. Warren said it was all fine and innocent. But Warren only had a child’s understanding of his parents. While Will, on the other hand, was the son of one of Barron Battle’s greatest adversaries, and had an enemy’s understanding of Warren’s parents. He knew that Barron Battle was very capable of doing evil things to Mara Peace, and if she trusted him, as she seemed to, and let her guard down around him, he would do those evil things to her. 

Will went back out to continue his surveillance of Warren’s parents. 

Collecting more glasses. Wiping down more tables. Passing by with an empty serving tray. 

He watched Ms. Peace drizzle extra buffalo sauce on her wings before biting into them. And Barron Battle dab at his eyes that were tearing up from how hot the food was, all the while insisting that the food was not too spicy for him at all, and that he could handle it. He also saw Battle chug half the saucer of ranch sauce –presumably to quench the burn- when Ms. Peace wasn’t looking. Apparently, it was too spicy, and he could not handle it. 

Even if he wasn’t exactly planning anything evil, he was –at the very least- lying and misleading Ms. Peace!

On his next pass by, Warren’s mom stopped him. “Oh, hey, Bouncer-Kid-Who’s-Now-Waiting-Tables-For-Some-Reason,” she said, “in between you stalking us for unknown reasons, can you get Mr. I-Can-Handle-The-Spice another ranch dip?”

Will floundered for a moment. Taken aback. He hadn’t realized they were that aware of him. Ms. Peace had been drinking and Barron Battle kept fingering whatever the heck he had hidden in his pocket. He didn’t think they were paying attention to him. 

Apparently, they were, and they noticed. 

Mara Peace deiced to confront him about it directly, while Barron Battle was glaring at him like Will should be looking over his shoulder on his way home tonight. Because if the supervillain caught him alone… 

“Uh…” Will said with the exact same level of eloquence he had in freshman year when talking to- …literally anyone he had hadn’t met on the bus that morning. “I, uh… Yeah! I’ll get right on that!”

He fled to the kitchen. 

“Are you staying out of trouble?” Warren asked when he saw his friend return to the kitchen for what was probably the sixth time in a span of thirty minutes. 

“I’m… bringing them more ranch.” He confessed. 

“Stronghold!” Warren hissed. “You are going to get yourself stabbed and me unborn!”

“I just wanna make sure your dad doesn’t do anything bad to your mom.” Will insisted. “I’m looking out for you.”

He filled a new saucer with ranch dressing and went back out. 

“Here you go!” And he tried to put on his best ‘innocent service worker’ smile. Will had never worked a day in the service industry before today, so it came out as more of a shit-eating grin. 

Mara Peace slid the ranch to Battle’s side of the table, then looked at Will, really looked at him. “I finally figured out why you look so familiar to me.” She announced. 

And Will felt a stab of panic. Oh gawd! Was she about to say he looked like his dad? Like the Commander? Was she about to figure it out? Was their cover blown? Had he just erased himself and his best friend both from the time stream!?

“You’re that same dumb rookie who almost flew into me earlier today!” She announced. 

At that announcement, Barron Battle set his drink down and started examining Will much more intently. 

Actually, she almost flew into him. But arguing that detail was not high on the list of things to do at the moment. 

“No, I’m not.” Will tried to argue. 

“Yeah, you are.” Insisted Ms. Peace. “You weren’t wearing a mask then, and you’re not wearing a mask right now. It was you!”

“You must have me confused with someone else.” Will insisted. 

“And now you’re following me around here.” She observed. 

Barron Battle was definitely, definitely giving Will a critical examination now. Not just studying him, but dissecting him. Taking him apart with his eyes. Noting that the hair was brown, feathery, and light. That his eyes were a similar shade of brown. Not particularly tall, probably under six feet. But broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Fit. But not a kind of fitness that came from training. The natural kind of fitness that betrayed superpowers somewhere in his background. Barron Battle was figuring him out, and that sent Will into a panic. 

“I gotta go!” He announced. Then fled back to the kitchen. 

Battle wiped his hands on a napkin and very calmly finished his coke. When he put the glass down, he cleared his throat. “Will you excuse me, Sparky. There’s something I gotta take care of.”

She put her hand on his before he could leave. “Bambi, he’s just a kid. He’s probably one of my fans. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Don’t kill him.”

Battle took her hand in his and kissed it like some kind of chivalrous knight of olde. “If he really is one of your fans just trying to get your attention, I’ll let him go.” Battle promised. She knew how to handle unwanted male attention. She was a very attractive woman and had received more than her own fair share of entitled male attention. “But if it’s not you he was surveilling, if it’s me he’s after… I protect my interest, Sparky.”

She pursed her lips in disapproval. “There are other alternative to killing.” Mara reminded him. “Promise me you’ll explore some before jumping to homicide.”

He kissed her hand again. “As you wish.” Then left the table, following the mysterious kid into the kitchen. 

Battle found him talking to one of the dishwashers. Speaking fast, as if in a panic. Battle didn’t head what they were saying. He just grabbed the brat that had been following his woman and dragged the kid outside into the alley behind the club. Battle flattened the younger man against a wall. Slammed him, more like it. All the wind knocked out of him. Causing the brat to see stars and gasp for air. 

“Why are you following us?” Battle demanded. 

At first the kid did not answer, so Battle shook him. Lifting the brat a few inches off the ground to be able to glare at him on the same eye-level. “Is it me you’re tailing or Flamebird? Who are you after?”

“I-“ He began. Haltingly, as if he wasn’t sure himself what he was after or what he wanted. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t.” Battle repeated back to him. “Or won’t?”

Bending one knee, Battle reached behind him, pulling something from between the treads of his shoe. Will was horrified to find that it was yet another knife. Apparently, Gate the Bouncer hadn’t gotten all his knives and Mara Peace didn’t know that he had hidden some in the rubber soles of his boots. 

Holding the blade in his hand, Battle rested his fist on the wall next to Will’s head. The blade of the knife drifting uncomfortably close to his eyeball. 

“Let’s try this again.” Battle announced. “Why are you following us? Who are you after?”

“I still can’t say.” Will repeated. 

“Brat, I don’t think you quite realize the situation you’re in.” 

Outside the ally, cars passed by on the open street. Maxville was a city that never slept, that was as true in 1988 as it was in 2010. With every pass of a car, white or red lights flashed on the blade next to Will’s eye. Making him very, very keenly aware of the situation he was in. 

“I know what I’m dealing with, Mr. Battle.” He said, breath shallow. Will may, or may not be panicking. He honestly was not sure. “You’re a supervillain and one of the Commander’s most powerful foes.”

That announcement sent a shock of comprehension through Battle. He hadn’t thought of Steve Stronghold since high school. Yet, here was this kid saying he was one of Steve’s most powerful foes. The kid had to be Steve’s sidekick, right? Some new rookie to replace All American Boy. He looked like Steve’s aesthetic too. Bland white boy with feathery hair, a shade of brown so light it could be called ‘dirty blond’. This kid worked for the Commander! He was not one of Flamebird’s love-struck fanboys. He was an enemy. 

Battle could not let him go. 

“Okay.” He nodded. 

And the motion caused the cold metal of the knife to brush against Will’s face. Not enough to cut the skin, just enough for him to register, yes, that was real metal. Cold, and sharp. He had no idea what being stabbed would do to him. His strength made him invulnerable to blunt force like explosions and stuff. Will had no idea if it offered him the same protection against sharp focused damage like knife stabbings. The Commander did say that Barron Battle was one of his greatest adversaries. Was it because his blades could pierce his super-strong skin?

Then Battle’s eyes went hard and cold. Focused with intent. “Sorry.” He said. “I know you’re just a kid, but Steve should not have gotten you involved with me.”

The motion was so fast, Will didn’t even know what was happening. One moment the knife was next to his face all intimidating and scary. The next thing, Battle had pulled back, arm coiled, knife in hand. Ready for a stabbing thrust. A stabbing thrust that was aimed right at Will’s heart. 

“I’m from the future!” Will screamed. 

While at the exact same time, he heard Warren’s voice shout, “Dad, stop!”

A ball of fire streaked through the ally and impacted Barron Battle in the hand. He dropped the knife, the skin blackening and peeling in the flames. He looked in the direction the fireball had come from and saw another kid. 

This one taller than the first. About Battle’s own height, actually. With hair of a slightly darker brown, straight with two red streaks in it. Both his arms were on fire. 

“Did- did you call me ‘Dad’?” He asked. Then turned to the one he almost stabbed. “Did you say you’re from the future?”

The one with arms on fire crossed the space between them, all but shoving Battle out of the way in his haste to get to the other. “Are you hurt? I told you to leave them alone! They would notice you being weird!”

“I’m sorry.” Said the other, sounding short of breath. Like he was just coming down from a panic. “I thought I was helping.”

Battle just stood there. Staring at them. One said they were from the future. The other called him ‘Dad’. One had fire powers. The other could fly. Both were powers that Mara had. One looked a lot like him and the other had been practically stalking them all night. Sluggishly, feeling almost dazed, Battle’s brain was struggling to draw a conclusion from the evidence before him. 

“Your hand!” The one he nearly killed exclaimed in concern, noticing Battle’s burned hand. 

To spite having almost been murdered in a filthy ally, the shorter one was concerned about him. Battle’s brain was getting closer to that conclusion…

He held up his hand, in a bit of a daze. Watching the burned skin fall away. Pushed off by the new tissue that was growing and healing over in its place. He looked back up at the two boys, one standing protectively in front of the other. Protecting him like… like a younger brother. 

And he called Battle ‘Dad’… and they were from the future… and they each of them had one of Mara’s powers…

His brain had almost finished its conclusion. It was almost a conscious thought. Almost at the surface of his mind. Barron Battle just had to give voice to what the evidence was telling him. 

Kids from the future. One who looked almost exactly like him. Both with one of Flamebird’s powers. And called him ‘Dad’. 

“Mara’s gonna accept my proposal!” He was so excited, he shouted it.


	4. Same Plan, Different Page

“Mara’s gonna accept my proposal!” He was so excited, he shouted it. 

The two just stared at him. 

“That’s what this means, right?” Battle asked, feeling inexplicably giddy, practically shaking with excitement. “You called me ‘Dad’ and you said you’re from the future. You’ve got pyrokinesis, and you can fly –you’ve each got one of Mara’s powers. That means you’re our children, right!”

Will opened his mouth to correct Barron Battle, but Warren stopped him. “Do not confirm or deny anything he just said!”

“Oh. Right, right.” Battle nodded. “Time travel. Can’t say anything that could mess up the future. That’s why you were being so weird inside. You couldn’t just walk up to us and be like ‘hi I’m your son’. That would throw everything off.”

Will had still thrown a lot of things off while ‘spying’ on them inside. 

Still smiling, as if he hadn’t just been about to murder one of them in cold blood, Battle reached into his pocket and pulled out that suspicious thing he’d been fiddling with all night. It turned out to be an uncut diamond. A big one too. About the size of his thumbnail –which, for a gemstone quality diamond, was pretty big. 

“I was gonna propose to her tonight.” Battle announced. “I was a little nervous ‘cause I wasn’t sure she was gonna say ‘yes’. Ya know, the whole supervillain thing. A Hero and a supervillain getting married? That’s never been done before! But you’re here, so she must have said ‘yes’! Is that why you came back in time? To make sure I went through with it.”

It was all Will could do to just stare at the older man. It was 1988, which meant Barron Battle was 28 years old. Young, in his prime, and… dopy, stupid, and earnestly in love. Excited, optimistic, and… naïve. This was not the unrepentantly evil supervillain his parents described to him. 

Warren had been a superhero one year longer than Will. True, he had only time traveled once. But he liked to think he was experienced and smart, and knew the rules when accidentally hurled through time. So, he shocked himself as much as he did Barron Battle when he blurted out, “You didn’t give Mom a diamond!”

Battle and Will both turned to stare at him and Warren wanted to kick himself in the mouth. So much for not messing with the time stream. 

“Excuse me?” Battle fixed the younger man with a level glare. Readjusting his glasses so that they reflected the street light and it was harder to read his expression through them. “I am holding the diamond I intend to give her.”

“Yeah, but…” Why was he still talking? Warren should know better. He should just cut his losses and go. Leave Battle to figure it out and let the time stream sort itself out. Instead, Warren continued. Like an idiot. “…you didn’t give her a diamond.”

Battle only continued to glare at the boy he had concluded was his son –his older son, he seemed to have two- from the future. What did the kid know that he didn’t know? What future knowledge did he possess? Was there something wrong with the diamond? Battle examined it before he left Angola. It was flawless, gemstone quality. Battle wasn’t an expert on carats and stuff like that, but he would have priced the diamond somewhere between fifty-thousand to a hundred-thousand dollars. 

Was he wrong? Was the gem not as good as he thought it was?

Or was there some other reason? A more super-related reason. Was the diamond cursed?

It was the one Battle almost stabbed who reacted next. The one Battle had mentally dubbed his ‘younger son from the future’. Oh, god! He almost murdered his youngest son in cold blood! 

“We gotta go!” The boy announced. 

He then scooped his older brother up into his arms and shot up in to the air, leaving Battle behind in the ally. More confused and concerned than when he dragged the boy outside to interrogate him. 

Not knowing what to do, and maybe still in a bit of a daze… Wow, he and Mara had two kids in the future… Battle went back inside. 

…

Mara Peace had no idea what she was doing with her life. 

Not really. 

Three years ago, she had a life plan. She was going to party around for a bit and get all the ‘wild’ out of her. Then find a good man and settle down. Get married. Have a couple of kids. Ya know, good girl stuff. The things upstanding women of fine moral character were supposed to do. 

Barron Battle was not meant to be anything more than just a wild fling of her youth. Diddle a supervillain so that she could caution her future children against it later in life. Go through a life experience so that others could learn from her mistake and not make the same one. That’s all Barron was supposed to be. An educational experience. A youthful fling with a dangerous man before she got serious and settled down with a different man of more solid moral character. 

But this ‘youthful fling’ with a supervillain had drawn on for three years now. 

Three years. That wasn’t a ‘fling’, that was ‘going steady’. That was ‘stable and committed’. That was… a real and serious relationship. She moved into his home for cripes sake! 

Three years dating. One year living together. This was no longer a youthful fling, and her youth was running out. She wasn’t some dumb and adventurous 22-year-old anymore. She was 25 and her youth was running out. If she still wanted the things she told herself she wanted –marriage, children- then she had to make a decision. Either break-up with Barron, and soon. Soon enough for her to have enough time to find some new guy to date and marry. Or else, try and have those things with Barron Battle –with a supervillain. 

Running a finger around the rim of her empty drink, Mara sighed. 

Sometimes, it really did feel like she could have those things with Barron. 

When she came home in the middle of the day to change, and he listened to her tell him all about her misadventures. It felt like he was really listening. Like he actually cared. Like he was invested. Unlike some other guys who just went ‘uh-huh’ whenever she paused for a response. And he would ask her if she managed to get lunch in between super-fights. He obviously cared about her. 

And he was surprisingly domestic for a supervillain. Always kept the condo clean. Picked up the floors, did the laundry, washed the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, made the bed. And he cooked! Barron Battle was an excellent cook! Hell! He would make a better wife than Mara ever would. 

Sometimes, it really felt like she could marry him. And have children with him. And they could have a marriage, and raise a family, and be happy. 

Then he would do something that reminded her, ‘Oh, no… he’s an international war monger and cold-blooded killer.’ Which did not make him marriage material. 

Nothing big. It was never anything overt like carrying a small arsenal of knives and bladed weapons on him almost every time they went out. That was actually fairly average for people in their niche community with passive superpowers like instant healing. Carrying weapons in and of themselves did not cause Mara concern. 

But every now and again, he would get this look in his eyes. A cold, calculating, hard look. The focused and intent glare of a predator with prey in his sights. The look of a killer. 

He had it in his eyes just now when he stepped away from the table. When he followed that boy into the back. That poor kid was probably innocent. Just some rookie, fresh out of Sky High and not knowing anything. He probably just saw her and wanted to talk, but didn’t know how to approach. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon story. Mara’s Flamebird costume was very sexually alluring. She designed it that way as a disarming tactic. It was scandalous, and a scandalized villain was a distracted villain. The drawback was, it also had the uncomfortable side effect of distracting teenage boys too.

For the most part, Barron let her deal with her drooling and panting admirers on her own. She knew how to and, more often than not, they were harmless and didn’t deserve to be hurt. 

But, Barron was a supervillain and, as was on brand for his kind, always had at least one –sometimes more than one- nefarious scheme brewing. (Mara made a point to never ask him how he paid for such a nice condo in the middle of Downtown, she did not want him to confirm that all his wealth –that she also enjoyed- was blood money.) And, Barron had good instincts. If he got the impression that someone was trailing them, not for her, but for him, he would not hesitate to… remove the threat. 

Mara tried to convince him that there were ways of taking care of problems besides killing them. There was always another way. Killing was not necessary. 

He would nod, and kiss her hand, and say he would take her words to heart, keep the idea in mind. Look for other ways besides killing. But his eyes always stayed hard and cold. A killer’s eyes. 

That was not the kind of man she could marry. That was not the kind of man she could have children with. 

But that conclusion always lead Mara back to the initial question: What was she even doing with her life?

She said she wanted the traditional idea of a ‘happy life’, marriage and children. She concluded that she could not have those things with Barron. So, the next logical step would be to break up with him. She wasn’t getting any younger and she needed to give herself enough time to meet someone new. So why hadn’t she broken up with Barron Battle yet?

It was coming to a turning point. Soon. She could feel it. One way or another, Mara Peace would have to make a decision. Either break up with Barron. Or else admit that she loved him more than she wanted those other things…

Those thoughts were pushed to the side when Barron returned to the table. Looking oddly dazed. Not like he was hit with a Mesmer by some hypnotic super, more like he was shocked and confused. 

“You okay, Bambi?” She asked. 

He blinked at her. The oddest –and goofiest- smile on his face. 

“I just…” He seemed at a bit of a loss as to what to say. Barron placed a hand in his pocket. 

She noticed him doing that all night. Since before they left the condo even. He had something in his pocket –something too small to be a weapon- and was fiddling with it all night. Mara would be lying if she didn’t admit that she wanted to know what it was. Some kind of contraband he brought with him to pass off to one of his supervillain co-conspirators? Should she pick his pocket? It was easy for her to do. Just rub up against him. Slide one hand up his body, the other hand down. Into his pocket, grab the thing, then caress his pants a bit more to make him think the contact was an entirely different kind of ‘not innocent’. 

But, they also promised each other that they would stay out of each other’s affairs. He did not interfere with how she chose to handle either her enemies or her admirers, and she did not interfere with… his Plans. 

Mara tried to ignore him fiddling with whatever was in his pocket and instead asked a different question. “You didn’t hurt that poor boy, did you?”

For a quantum of a second, Barron looked horror struck. As if the idea of killing that strange boy suddenly and inexplicably filled him with disgust. It was a stark contrast to the hard and cold killer he was when he left the table. But the expression was there and gone so fast, Mara wasn’t even sure she read it right. What happened to him out there?

“No.” Battle assured her. “No, the kids are fine.”

“Kids?” She echoed the plural. “There was more than one of them?”

Battle looked startled for a second. “Uh, yeah, there were two.”

Mara plastered a teasing smile on her face, tilted her head and looking up at him through her lashes. “Aw, did the widdle kiddies gang up on the big tough supervillain?”

“Not exactly.” Battle admitted. 

And Mara was startled. She expected him to get flustered by her teasing. Not confirm that it was actually close to the truth. 

“They were just looking out for each other.” Battle explained, sounding almost proud of the two strangers that ‘not exactly’ ganged up on him. “They’re good kids.”

He was acting weird. Very weird. Maybe he did get hit with some kind of Mesmer by a hypnotic powered super. “Are you sure you’re okay, Bambi? Should I take you home?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Barron insisted. “I’m better than fine, actually!” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, his fist closed around something. “I-“ He felt the diamond in his hand. “I wanted to-“ All it’s rough edges. One end slightly pointier than the other. It dug into his organs the entire plane ride back to Maxville. “We’ve been together for a while, and I-“ but his son from the future said he didn’t give her a diamond. “I…” He slid the diamond back into his pocket without showing it to her. If there was something wrong with it, something his children knew about on account of their future knowledge, something that he didn’t know yet… Battle couldn’t give a cursed gem to the woman he loved. “Glad. I’m really glad we’re together.”

Mara only continued to peer at him from across the table. Suspiciously. He was not acting like his usual self. 

She pushed back from the table and came around to his side. 

“You are acting weird.” She announced. “Why are you being weird all of a sudden?” She placed a hand to his forehead. His temperature felt normal. She felt his throat and under his chin, no swollen lymph nodes. He wasn’t pale. His eyes didn’t look glassy. By all outward appearance, Barron looked normal. Except he was not acting normal. Mara fished a hand into his pants pocket –the pocket he hadn’t been playing in all night- and pulled out his car keys. “I’m taking you home, Bambi.”

She pulled him out of the club, remembering to collect his jacket and knives from the weapons and coat check at the door. Even if Barron wasn’t in his right state of mind, Mara would never hear the end of it if they left his blades behind. As a super with a passive power, he needed his weapons if he was to hold his own against another super. 

“You know I’m not drunk, right?” Barron asked when she shoved him in the passenger seat of his car and took the driver’s seat for herself. “I can’t even get drunk.”

The fact that Battle hadn’t had any alcohol at all aside, his superpower was such that any alcohol he did drink was cleaned from his system before it even had the chance to get him drunk. It was the same with medications, too, and poisons. Any substance that altered the body or the mental state was cleansed in the same amount of time any of his other healings took. As far as his superpower was concerned, it was all the same. 

In fact, Mara was the one who’d been drinking. She was the one who should not be driving. 

But, she was sober enough to recognize that her boyfriend was not acting like he normally did. She was sober enough to remember that, that was not something that happened to him easily (or at all) because of the nature of his own superpower. And she was sober enough to put two and two together, he started acting strange when he came back from following that strange kid out of the club, a strange kid who ambushed him with a partner. Clearly, the second one had done something to Barron. Used some kind of hypnosis ot Mesmer on him to make him this… giddy and dazed. 

Mara might have been the one who was drinking, but Barron was the one in an altered mental state not fit to drive home. At least, according to her. 

“That’s what has me so worried, Bambi.” She announced, turning over the engine. 

Their condo –his condo, Mara had to remind herself that it was his, not theirs- was not far from Divide. It was only two stop lights and one right turn away, and Mara only went over the line into the intersection a little bit on the second light. A detail which Battle pointed out to her, only after the loud honking of the opposing traffic had died down. 

But, they made it back to the parking garage under the building in one piece. 

Barron was playing with whatever he had in his pocket again. He fiddled with it the whole ride up the elevator. 

“Hey, Sparky,” he finally began somewhere after the twentieth floor, “you remember when we first started dating and you said you wanted certain things, and that you were gonna end it with me when you decided it was time to have those things because you didn’t wanna have those things with a supervillain?”

“Yeah…” She was just thinking along almost the exact same lines no more than twenty minutes ago when they were still at the club. 

“That was three years ago.” He pointed out. “And you haven’t ended it with me yet.”

She eyed him warily. Suddenly wondering if his strange daze was a weird power-swap shock, and he temporarily had the ability to read minds or something. He was voicing thoughts she herself was having. 

I his pocket, his hand balled into a fist, clutching that mysterious thing tight. “I was just wondering… if you still wanted those things…?”

“A marriage. And children.” She named ‘those things’ out loud. All the while, eyeing him warily. Feeling nothing but suspicion at the way he was acting. Her superhero instincts were telling her something was different. Something had changed. Something was… wrong? 

Mara was about to say, ‘yes, Bambi, I do still want those things’, but she honestly wasn’t so sure anymore. A traditional nuclear family did sound nice. But… 

She eyed Barron up and down. Tall. Broad shouldered. Muscular and fit. Skilled. And very handsome both with the glasses on and with them off. He cleaned up after not only himself but her too. He cooked. He always listened to how her day was. He worried after he well-being… If she just ignored the whole supervillain thing, he kinda was the perfect man. 

Sometimes, Mara Peace wanted a marriage and children. Other times, she just wanted Barron Battle as her life-long boyfriend instead. 

Yes, Mara still wanted ‘those things’ as Barron put it. But she also wanted to stay with Barron, and she wasn’t sure if ‘those things’ were things she wanted to have with a supervillain. 

“Yeah…” Barron sighed. “Marriage… and children…” 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Mara leaned against the elevator wall. “I still think about it some times.” She admitted. In fact, she had been thinking about it more and more often of late. The problem was, all she was doing was thinking. Just thinking. Not deciding anything. Not taking any action. Just sitting. …and thinking. “Why do you ask?”

“Because-“ He began, then cut himself off abruptly. Then began again. “I’ve just- I think about it too.” He finally admitted. “So, I guess I’m just trying to let you know we’re on the same page now.”

“What does that mean?” She pushed off the wall, blinking at him. With a preamble like that, she was expecting him to break up with her. ‘Sorry, I’m a supervillain and can’t have a wife and children getting in the way of my Evil Plans! Have your stuff out of my condo by the end of the week. Bye!’ But then he ended it with ‘we’re on the same page’. What did that mean!?

He opened his mouth to answer. But the elevator dinged and the doors opened up onto their floor. Barron finally let go of the thing in his pocket. “There’s something I have to look into tomorrow.” He told her, changing the subject. “I’ll try and be done by the time you get off work. I’ll pick you up.”

Mara stared at him. A change in subject from one of them usually was an indication to drop the subject. It was one of the rules they set down when they decided to date. No hero could date a villain without setting down some clear and defined rules first. The same went for a villain dating a hero. Rules and boundaries. And respect for those rules and boundaries. Barron was setting a boundary. 

“Will we be revisiting this conversation tomorrow after work?” She asked, wanting to know if it was a permanent boundary or just a ‘I’m feeling off tonight and don’t wanna talk anymore, let’s pick it up again tomorrow’ boundary. 

“Yes.” He promised her. “Maybe.” He immediately amended. “It depends on what I can learn tomorrow.”


	5. Chasing Delphi

“Bambi, do you know where my costume is?” Mara called from the bedroom. 

Battle flipped the pancake he was frying. “All your Flamebird costumes are in the hamper.” He called back. Then slid the cooked cake on top of an already tall stack. “I only got back into town yesterday and haven’t had the chance to do laundry yet.”

The building had a concierge service that would do their laundry for them. But Battle didn’t like the idea of strangers handling his things –especially not his intimates, like underwear, super villain costume, or weapons holsters. 

Mara came out of the bedroom, wearing only her underwear, and holding both pieces of her one of her Flamebird costumes. “This is fine.” She announced. “Ten minutes airing outside on the balcony and it’ll smell fine.”

She stepped out onto the balcony wearing only her underwear. Any passing super with the ability of flight would have seen her in her unmentionables and nothing else, plane at day. The cool morning air making her nipples poke out through the lace of her bra. 

Battle smiled to himself. Mara Peace was a mess of a woman, but damn it all to hell, he loved that hot mess! “And will you be spending those ten minutes having breakfast with me?”

Turning off the stove, Battle set two plates stacked with pancakes up on the kitchen bar. He added syrup and butter for himself, and marmalade and sweet red pepper sauce for Mara. 

She joined him at the bar. Her bare thigh pressing against his hip as she scooted closer to him. “So,” Mara began, “the things you have to look into today, are they Evil Plan related, or can I ask about them?”

“Nothing I’m doing today is Evil Plan related.” He assured her. Battle spread a napkin over his lap, and tucked a second one into his collar before he began cutting into his own pancakes. He needn’t have bothered, Battle never dripped anything on his clothes while eating. He still overloaded on the napkins anyway. “I have an item I brought back with me from my last trip –a non-evil, non-Plan related item- and I just want it appraised. Then I’m gonna head back to Divide and talk to Ave.”

“Appraised?” She echoed. “You didn’t steal any culturally or historically significant artifacts did you?”

“No.” Battle assured her. “No. I didn’t rob any graves or loot sacred sites. It’s just a rock.”

“Mm. Must be some special rock if you need to have it appraised.” Mara noted. “Just a heads up, after Iciclette’s attack yesterday, the diamond exchange by my work is closed.”

“Noted.” Battle wiped his mouth on yet a third napkin. 

Mara took another bite. Chewing slowly and looking at the clock above the stove, and wondering why the number it was showing seemed stranger to her. 

“Oh! I’m gonna be late!” Mara abandoned her breakfast at the bar and flew back into the bedroom to put clothes on. She emerged a few minutes later, fully clothed, but with the top two buttons of her blouse undone, and trying to pull her perm back into a scrunchy. “I’ll wait for you to pick me up after work.”

The last thing she did before jumping off the balcony was grab her Flamebird costume and shove it in her purse. 

Battle waited to the count of ten to make sure she was really gone, and wasn’t about to come back saying she forgot her keys, or the sack lunch he made her that was still sitting on the bar counter right next to her half-eaten breakfast. He had just counted to nine when Mara drifted back in. 

“Shoes!” She hissed by way of explanation. “I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Anything else?” Battle asked her as she vanished back into the bedroom and came out again, this time wearing a pair of sensible Mary Janes. 

“Oh.” She crossed the wide living room and gave him an affectionate kiss on the lips. Then moved to the balcony again. 

“Your lunch!” Battle held up the paper sack he packed for her. 

“Oh. Right!” She grabbed it and kissed him again. More ardently this time. With open lips. He tasted the spicy peppers from her breakfast. “Ya know, Bambi, you’re really…” she trailed off for a moment, as if unsure how she wanted to end that thought, “…not what I ever imagined a supervillain being like.”

He had no idea what to say to a statement like that. So instead he reminded her, “Aren’t you running late?”

“Crap!” She flew out. 

He sighed. Deeply. She was a high maintenance mess, but it was nice to feel needed. Not just needed but appreciated. Depended on and trusted. Those were not generally ways in which a supervillain was regarded. And Mara was funny. Like an absentminded professor, only young, short, and sexy with almost no shame to speak of. 

Battle gathered up their plates. He covered what was left of Mara’s food with tin foil and put it in the refrigerator. His own plate when into the sink with the frying pan, mixing bowls, measuring cups and ladle. He made sure everything was washed and in the drying rack, and both the sink and counter were wiped down and sanitized before he left. Battle liked to keep his home clean. His kitchen –where the food was prepared- extra clean. 

When he was satisfied, he made sure he still had the diamond, grabbed his keys and headed out. 

The diamond exchange by Mara’s work might be closed, but Maxville was a big city. There was more than one place to take a raw, uncut, precious gem to get it appraised, cut, polished, and set in an engagement ring. But Battle needed more than just an appraisal. He needed to know if there was anything wrong with the stone beyond just size, weight, clarity, etcetera. His son from the future said he didn’t give her a diamond at all. Battle needed to know why. 

He went to a pawn shop down in South Side. 

The pawn shop was just a front. The real business was providing supplies and services to the super community of Maxville. Not specifically supervillains. They would be just as happy serving heroes as well. Just, heroes tended to not be able to afford their fees. Or, took issue with patroning a place that also served villains. Superheroes were kinda rigid and intolerant in that regard. Not Flamebird. But most other heroes in general. 

This was where Battle got most of his knives. Nowhere else supplied weapons made thin enough to be hidden in the tread of a shoe, or light enough to be able to carry seven of them in one jacket without being weighed down, but still strong enough to penetrate human bodies. 

Which reminded him, when he went back to Divide later, he should check the ally for the knife he dropped when his older son shot it out of his hand with his fireball. 

A tiny bell above the door jingled when Battle entered the shop. 

“Morning, Battle.” The woman at the counter looked up. She was an ancient thing. Tall, and skinny. With stringing gray hair and eyes that were ever so slightly sunken in their sockets. She held a lit cigarette in one hand and was turning the page of a newspaper with the other. “That bombshell of yours made the third page.”

She held up the paper so that Battle could see a small black and white photo of Flamebird, her arms on fire, connecting a punch –an actual physical hit, not a fireball- to Iciclette’s mid-section. The picture included both women’s faces, but –somehow- the photographer had made the center of the shot, Flamebird’s ass hanging out of the back of her costume. Mara always said you could tell if the newspaper photographers were male or female depending on why they made the focus of their photos. 

“She keeps flashing that ass of hers and might give the Commander some competition for first page news.” She said. Then folded up the paper and set it aside. “What can I do for ya today? Lose any more knives inside recent corpses and need ‘em replaced?”

He did think about the one knife he dropped in the ally after nearly killing his future younger son with it. Maybe he should rethink his signature weapon. 

“No. No weapons today.” He took the diamond out of his pocket and set it down on the glass counter. “Can you take a look at this for me?”

“Mm, diamond.” She pushed back from the counter and turned around. Bending down she pulled out a jeweler’s loupe from a cubby. Holding it to her eye, she lifted the diamond to the light, giving the gem a critical examination. “Things must be getting serious between you and that bombshell. Excellent clarity. Looks like five carats.” She took out a tiny scale and weighed the diamond. “You’ll lose a little of it once it cut and polished, obviously, but I’d price it at about eighty-thousand value. Did you want me to sell it for you, or cut it for you?”

“First I need to know if there’s anything wrong with it.” He told her. When you child travels through time to warn you not to give your wife a diamond, you better head the warning. Battle wasn’t dumb. Weird shit happened to supers all the time. “Anything ‘super’ wrong with it.”

“Oh. Super wrong.” She nodded, understanding. 

Putting away her loupe, she took out an entirely different set of tools. A mad scientist’s scope to check if the surface had been laced with anything. A spectrer to make sure it’s molecular structure hadn’t been altered or made unstable. Chemicals to testing to see if it was poisoned. And a small alter to check to see if it was cursed. There was any number of things a super could do to a gem stone that could make life difficult for other supers. 

Battle waited patiently. Watching as each check was performed. The woman kept her face neutral through the whole process, and Battle didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. What was she see –or not seeing- in the diamond he intended to give to the woman he loved? Was his future-son right? Should he not give Mara the diamond? Was it poisoned? Or cursed? Or radioactive? 

Finally, she set the diamond back down on the glass counter and looked up at Battle. “Seems fine to me. Nothing out of the ordinary that I can see.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Battle smiled. Maybe his son from the future said he didn’t give her a diamond for some other reason. Maybe the boy was confused. A lot could happen in… Battle did some mental guesswork based on how old the boys looked –around twenty or more years.

“In that case, can you go ahead and cut the stone for me?” He asked. “I’ll be back to pick it up later.”

“Even after being cut, it’s gonna be a bit big for a ring.” She told him. 

“I’ll think about the setting. Just go ahead and get started on it.” Battle assured her. He had already resolved that he was going to marry Mara Peace. Rings, and jewelry settings were just material things. He could still figure those out. 

In the meantime, there was somewhere else he needed to check. 

Battle paid an advanced fee for the gem to be cut and polished, then he climbed back into his car and headed back Downtown to Divide. 

It was mid-day by that point and the club was just starting to set up. The lights were bright, turned all the way up, illuminating the whole space. Staff was all over the place, moving tables and sweeping the floors. Prepping the kitchens. Connecting bar taps to new tanks. Replacing empty –or almost empty- spirits bottles with fresh ones. 

Battle eyed the staff, looking for his boys. Last night, they both appeared to be working here at Divide, so it was safe to assume that they’d still be working at Divide. 

Obviously, Battle told him of his dealings with the Broker, so when they found themselves traveling backwards in time, they went to their father’s old contact and business associate for shelter and a cover during their stay. Battle was glad that meant that his boys both paid attention to his stories, and were smart and knew how to adapt to extraordinary situations. Really, they were good kids. 

He bet they were amazing supervillains! And Battle smiled to himself at the idea. Brothers working together towards a common goal of wealth, stability, and personal profit. They must be pretty successful if they could hire a mad scientist to build them a backwards time machine to come back here just to make sure their parents got married. Maybe they’d even taken over the world! 

World domination was never really one of Battle’s aspirations. It always seemed like way more work than it was worth to him. But if he boys wanted to, they could. If his boys wanted to, they could do anything! 

Battle made his way up a flight of stairs. Past the second floor lounge. Down a hallways. To the back areas of the club. The business areas. He found the door that said ‘Staff Only’. He let himself in. 

Avaraham Wechsler, the Broker, was in the office, bent over his ledgers. He was always bent over his ledgers. A mug of coffee to his right, a glass of brandy to his left. Neither one looked touched. 

“I have an appointment policy for a reason, pup.” Muttered the Broker without looking up from his books. 

“I need some information, Ave.” Battle announced. Not ever bothering with the formality of an apology. The Broker knew that Battle wasn’t really sorry. And Battle knew that the Broker was actually probably grateful for the excuse to set aside the accounts and sums for a few minutes. “Two new supers were here last night. They might have come to you for help. One had Mara’s flight, and the other had her fire.” 

The old man just blinked at him from across the desk. He thought- that Jetstearm’s son- was Flamebird’s son…? The Broker schooled his features into a neutral and unreadable expression. One of the reasons why the Broker was so successful at what he did was his discretion. If Barron Battle wanted to believe that the Commander and Jetstream’s son was really his and Flamebird’s son, then the Broker would just go ahead and let him keep thinking that. It would probably keep the boy safer in the long run, and keeping his clients safe was another thing that made him such a successful business man. 

“I don’t just give away information on my clients, pup, you know that.” The Broker reminded him. “If two such individuals did engage my services, I would not be able to tell you.”

“They’re my children!” Battle snapped. 

“I don’t do business with children.” Replied the Broker calmly. “And, as far as I was aware, you don’t have any children.”

“I will!” Battle announced. “In the future! When Mara and I are married. We’re gonna have two sons and be so happy!”

The Broker just continued to look at Battle. Calm. Expression neutral. Unmoved by his vows of marital bliss. “Seems like you’ve already got everything figured out.” Said the old man. “So –supposing for the sake of the argument, two such men were here- why do you feel the need to talk to them now?”

Now Battle fidgeted. Feeling a little uneasy. The Broker always managed to do this. To get under his skin and see past his barriers. Even when the old man wasn’t using his super power. Avraham Wechsler was just really good at reading people. Sometimes Battle really appreciated the old man’s insights. Other times it made Battle really uncomfortable. To be so well understood and… known. 

“One of them said something.” Battle finally admitted. “I got this diamond for Mara. To propose to her. A really big one too. Just got it appraised and it’s five carats and really expensive. It’s a nice fucking diamond! But my son said that I didn’t give her a diamond. When I got it checked there wasn’t anything wrong with it. Not poisoned, or cursed, or radioactive. So, I need to know what went wrong that I didn’t give Mara the diamond.” 

With a “Hn,” that was more of an exhale than an intension, the Broker leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers. “Barron you’re well read.” He announced. “Your father made you study all the classics. In the original Greek even! Do you remember the prophesies of Delphi?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Battle asked, thinking the old man was just trying to change the subject. 

“Think of people from the future as oracles.” Explained the older man. “They possess knowledge of the future which you do not. And they can share it with you. And what you do with it is up to you. You can either take it under advisement and move on with your life, or you can let it consume you –either trying to explain it or prevent it- and all the actions you take in your fervor over the prediction are –ultimately- what bring it to come true.”

“I am taking it under advisement.” Battle insisted. “That’s why I got the stone examined. I don’t wanna give Mara anything that’s radioactive, or cursed, or poisoned. She’s going to be the mother of my children!”

The Broker sighed. Annoyed with the conversation and with Battle. The younger man was refusing to actually heed what he was saying and the Broker did have work to get back to. “Once again, I’m not saying two such men as you’re describing are here.” He said. “But if they were, we would have put them up in the temporary room. You remember it. It’s the same one I put you up in after you… left your father’s house.”

…

After the absolute disaster that was the previous night, neither Warren or Will knew what to do. They had been in the past less than twenty-four hours and already run into one set of parents, and convinced Barron Battle that he had not one son in the future, but two. For all they knew now, they would return to their own time to find that Warren had a new younger sibling that neither of them would have any memories of. 

They had so many concerns now. So many worries. So many questions. 

As soon as Will found his voice, he asked the least relevant one. “Did you know your dad kept knives hidden under his shoes!?”

Still kinda half-asleep himself, Warren just blinked at his friend. He glared at Will through the curtain of his hair. “Good rule of thumb: always assume my dad has at least one or more weapons on him.” A pause. “And if he’s not carrying a weapon, he can find one.”

Amazingly, this announcement did not make Will feel any better about the infamous supervillain knowing they were here. At least Barron Battle didn’t seem to hold any malicious intent for them. Last night before Will grabbed Warren and got outta there, Battle seemed happy. Excited. In love with Mara Peace and confident that their appearance heralded nothing but happiness and prosperity for their relationship. 

Warren yawned loudly and brushed his hair out of his face. “So,” he began, as if trying to broach an awkward subject, “my dad thinks you’re my brother, not my friend.” He announced. Then paused again, knowing the next part he was going to say was something his friend was not going to like. “If we run into Dad again, we should just let him keep thinking that. Don’t let him know you’re not also his kid. Especially not that you’re actually the Commander’s kid.”

“But that’s dishonest.” Will blurted out without hesitation. As if dishonesty and lies through omission were heinous crimes. “And,” he added, “wouldn’t making Mr. Battle think he has two kids mess up the time stream? Wont he freak-out if he’s expecting to have two children and then he and your mom only have just you? What if he overreacts and gets arrested early because of us tricking him?”

“Honestly, things already seem kinda off.” Warren admitted. “Dad had a huge diamond on him last night, but Mom never mentioned a diamond in either of the proposal stories they told me as a kid. Maybe we didn’t just go back in time, maybe we’re in a parallel dimension.”

They covered parallel dimensions in school. Places where a different country won a war. The heroes might be villains and the villains might be heroes. American Alien’s rocket crashed in Russia instead of North America. Cape Crusader was the one who was shot and murdered in an ally, not his parents. All the examples they studied in school were so strikingly different than their own that it would be glaringly obvious they were in an alternate universe. This version of 1988 was not different enough from what they were taught about the 1980s as to imply a parallel dimension. 

“Okay… but what if it’s not?” Will asked. 

“What if my dad finds out you’re actually the Commander’s son and he does stab you in the chest?” Warren shot back. 

“I mean… my super-strength makes me pretty near invulnerable.” Will reminded him. Although, last night, under the murderous gaze of a supervillain in his prime, Will did not feel quite so confident. “He might not even be able to stab me.”

Warren did not look convinced. “Stronghold, please do not make me watch my father kill my best friend.”

The tone in his voice. 

When Warren said that, it wasn’t his usual semi-hostile growl that he usually had when talking to, well, anyone. Nor was it his trademark irrational anger with no provocation he liked to use when trying to intimidate someone into agreeing with him. Instead, Warren’s tone was… pleading. Almost as if he were begging his friend, please do not make this traumatic possibility a probability. I don’t wanna watch you die, and I don’t want my own father to be the one who kills you.

If Will had ever head Warren sound like that before –like a small and scared child- he could not remember. It was very jarring to think the intimidating and formidable Warren Peace, the tough and edgy hero Phoenix, as small and scared. 

More for his friend’s sake than out of any concern for his own well-being, Will gave a nod. “Okay.” He agreed. “While we’re here in the past, I can let Mr. Battle think I’m also his son from the future.”

“Dad.” Warren corrected him. “If we run into his again, you can’t call him ‘Mr. Battle’, you’ll have to call him ‘Dad’. Or else the cover is blown.”

Will pursed his lips. He spent his whole life calling his own dad ‘Dad’. And, while he only ever even heard of ‘Barron Battle’ in his freshman year of high school, Will always imagined the man as more of a ‘that man’ or an ‘it’s you!’. The sort of things you shout at a nemesis when they appear in the scene and recognize them for who they are. Will always imagined Mr. Battle as an enemy. Not someone he could even jokingly call ‘Dad’. 

“Listen, if I can keep myself from calling you ‘Stronghold’ for the rest of this adventure, then you can call my father ‘Dad’ on the off chance that we might run into him again.” Warren growled. “I’m serious, Strong- Nn. Will. It’s for your own protection.” A pause and a mock smile. “I’m your big brother!”

Will grabbed one of bed posts and bent the knob down. Then back up again because he was a good kid and didn’t want to vandalize someone else’s property. “I don’t need my ‘big brother’ to protect me.”

“And yet, here we are.” Warren announced. 

He might have said more. But the door to the room the Broker put them up in opened at that exact moment. 

Both men looked to see who had just barged in on them.

Warren reacted first, jumping in front of Will the moment he recognized his father in the doorway. “Dad!”

“I have questions.” Announced Barron Battle.


	6. Wrong with the Diamond

“I have questions.” Battle announced. 

Then paused. Taking stock of what he was actually seeing here. It was mid-day but it looked like the boys were just waking up. That made sense. If Ave put them to work at the club as payment for whatever service he was providing for them. Divide remained open until 2am. Then there was clean-up work to be done after that. It was entirely likely that they did not get to bed until three or four in the morning. 

Still wearing their sleep clothes which looked borrowed. Unless the older one really felt that passionately about the Masters of the Universe cartoon, that he would wear it as a nightshirt over what looked like his regular underwear. Or if the younger one adored Night Rider so much he absolutely needed pajama pants of it. 

Clearly, Battle had walked in on them just barely starting their day. 

The beds weren’t even made! (Of course, if they took after Mara, that didn’t mean much. Battle had never seen her make a bed for as long as he’d known her. But no sons of his were gonna get away with it!) 

Folded neatly on the side of one of the beds was a black body suit with similarly black armor plating. The only color on it, splashes of red. It was a little hard to see with it folded, but it looked like either tongues of flame, or the wings of a bird. Obviously the older son’s costume, the one with the fire powers. So, he really was a supervillain, just like his old man. Battle couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the thought. His first born took after him. (Yay!)

Then he noticed a white, blue, and red costume crumpled on the floor at the foot of the other bed. The costume of a hero. The suit was all in a heap, so Battle couldn’t see any symbols on it. He didn’t know if the boy went his Mara bird aesthetic, or if he came up with his own, but it was not the uniform of a villain. His younger son did not take after him. (Aw.) Battle would be lying if he didn’t admit that that thought disappointed him a little. 

It seemed there was a lot about his boys that he didn’t know. Of course, there would be. From his point on the timeline, they weren’t even conceived. While, from their end, they had lived their lives, made their choices, and become their own men. Battle really didn’t know anything about his children. 

And, if the borrowed clothes and borrowed lodgings were any indication, this trip to their past might not have been quite as planned as Battle first assumed. Maybe –being a hero and a villain- they were fighting each other and something went wrong in the fight and they were hurled back in time together. But, no, that didn’t make sense because his villain son protected his hero son the other night. They might be on opposite sides, but they looked out for each other. Maybe it was a common enemy they were fighting and sent them back in time to get rid of them. 

The more Battle thought about it, the more he realized he just had more questions. 

At least one thing was clear. They had just woken up. So, neither one of them had eaten. “Can I treat you to breakfast?”

The two just continued to stare at him. Standing there. In their pajamas. At a bit of a loss as to what to do or what to think. 

“N-no!” Said his villain son, as if this should have gone without saying. They were from the future. They couldn’t just have breakfast with their father who hadn’t fathered them yet, talk like a family, and give away too much information about the future. 

Battle’s eyes did another sweep of the room. He noted no alternate clothing apart from what they were wearing –which was obviously barrowed- what they wore the previous night when they were working at Divide, and their super costumes. 

“You look a little out of place.” Battle announced, honestly. “Let me help you out.”

The older one opened his mouth as if to reply. 

But the younger one cut him off. 

“It’s okay, um, Dad.” He assured Battle. Words almost stinted. As if he weren’t sure how to talk to his own father. And that raised even more questions. Why didn’t his younger boy feel comfortable talking to him? Was it because he chose to become a hero? “The Broker already has a mad scientist on the way to send us back. We’re fine. Just waiting this out.”

Battle found, unconvinced. In his own personal experience, mad scientists were not the most punctual or reliable people in the world. “And what’s your backup plan in case this mad scientist doesn’t show up?”

He hoped he was the kind of father that taught his children to plan for contingencies. 

They both exchanged another look. 

“You don’t have a backup plan.” Battle concluded. When the boys only reply to this was more blank looks Battle just sighed. “Get dressed.” He ordered. “I’m gonna make sure you eat something-“ because if they were anything like Mara, they would need the reminder “-then we’re gonna figure something out together.”

Crossing his arm, Battle waited for them to get moving. 

There was a pause. 

They both looked like they were going to object, but didn’t know what arguments to make. They couldn’t very well cry about sharing too much of the future and messing up the time stream. They already gave away a lot. To use that as an objection now would be hypocritical –not that there was any rule that villains couldn’t be hypocritical, but heroes did have a rule against hypocrisy and at least one of his boys was a do-gooding hero. 

Finally, his villain son sighed and pulled off his borrowed pajama shirt. Stripping as if he didn’t care that he had an audience, just like Mara would. He got Mara’s fire and Mara’s laxed views of modesty. 

“Are you… just gonna stand there and watch us get dressed?” Asked the hero son. Well, he might be a damn hero, but at least the younger one took some of Battle’s comments about what was and was not appropriate to heart. 

“I’ll wait outside.” Battle announced. Then exited the room, closing the door behind him. 

Will and Warren stared at the closed door. 

“He is probably waiting right next to the door.” Warren hissed. And, knowing his father, now that Barron Battle had found them, he was not going to let them go until they gave him what he wanted. He said he had questions, so he would want answers. Answers they could not give him without endangering the time stream and creating a paradox. Or multiple paradoxes, actually. 

“What do we do?” Will asked. 

He had no idea how to handle Barron Battle. He never met the man before. Only heard about him from other people, and the stories he heard did not match up with the man he was seeing now. Well… the stories did match up a little bit with the man he met last night, when Battle pulled a knife out of an impossible place and almost murdered him in cold blood. That was like the stories he used to hear. But everything else he was seeing did not match up! 

Bending down near the foot of Will’s bed, Warren picked up the other man’s hero costume. “First, we have to do something about this.”

He held it up so that Will could see the rampart symbol on the chest. The Commander’s symbol. If they were going to pass Will off as Barron Battle’s son, then he very well could not be flying around wearing the crest of Battle’s enemy. 

Heading back to his own side of the room, Warren grabbed one of his own boots, turned it upside down and… pulled a knife out of the tread! 

“Are you serious!” Will hissed, very aware that Barron Battle might be able to hear anything they said on the other side of the door. “You pull the same hidden knife trick as your dad! What do you even need a knife for? You have your fire!”

Warren only shrugged. “There are some things you can do with a knife that you can’t do with a fireball.” He explained. “Now hold this up for me while I make a few adjustments.”

Working quickly, both of them keenly aware of the young supervillain in his prime on the other side of the door, Warren just the rampart symbol off Will’s costume. When he was done, he made a couple additional cuts on the diagonal and pulled on the fabric a little to make it look strained and ripped. So that it would look like the damage was the result of a fight and not intentional. “Okay, go ahead and put that on.”

For himself, Warren slipped on his own hero costume. He didn’t have to make any alterations to it. The bird on his chest was almost identical to Flamebird’s symbol –apart from the color- and the dark color scheme made him look like a villain. Battle would love it. 

“Okay,” Warren turned to will as soon as they both were ready, “we can get through this. Just listen to him when he talks, laugh at his jokes, and if he asks you a direct question, just say you can’t answer it in case it creates a paradox.”

Will nodded. “I can do this.”

Warren very much doubted that. But then, he wasn’t really one to comment. The majority of his own acting experience came from his sophomore year of high school when Layla convinced him to be her fake boyfriend. A scheme that consisted mostly of him sitting close to her and silently scowling while she called him cringy pet-names and held his hand without asking. 

But Warren could not sit quietly and scowl his way through this one. It was his father they had to fool. In this situation, Warren had to take point. 

“If you get nervous or trip up, I can bail you out.” Warren promised. “Just don’t let him corner you.”

Looking about as nervous as Warren felt, Will have a little nod. “Okay.”

Warren opened the door. 

Battled was right there. Leaning against the wall on the opposite side. He was looking at his watched, taking note of the time and how much of it he had before he promised Mara he would pick her up from work. Heroes allowed their cases and misadventures get in the way if their personal lives, missing shifts at their day jobs, or showing up late for dates. But supervillains made their own schedules instead of allowing their enemies to set the timings. Battle still had a couple of hours to spend with his boys before he had to pick up their mother. 

He looked up when the door opened, eyes going wide when he saw the big gaping hole in the chest of his younger son’s costume. “What happened to you!?”

Younger one looked started. Caught off guard. Almost scared. Like he didn’t know what to say or what to do. 

“It happened in a fight.” Supplied the older one. 

Battle stepped closer to the boys, giving his hero son a more critical examination. The edges of the hole in the fabric weren’t singed or melted. There was no evidence of fire or heat being used. So, thankfully, it was not the boy’s brother that inflicted the wound. Battle didn’t realize how relieved he was by that fact, until he felt himself sigh. One might be a villain and the other might be a hero, but at least they weren’t trying to kill each other. In fact, it looked like the work of a blade, not a superpower.

But the really, really, really interesting thing was that there was no wound on the skin that was exposed by the hole. If the costume was torn –and torn that badly- in a fight, then some of his skin should also be missing. But it was not. It was just pale, unblemished pectorals, covered in the lightest of dustings of chest hair. 

“You’ve got my healing ability too.” Battle concluded. 

“Do not confirm or deny anything.” His villain son repeated his words from the previous night.

Battle really needed to figure out their names, or at the very least something to call them. He was starting to get really annoyed with referring to them as his older son and younger son, or his villain son and hero son, or the tall one and the short one. Even in his own head that was annoying. And these were his children, he should know their names! 

“Anyway, car’s downstairs.” He announced. “Let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight and I got somewhere I gotta be by five-thirty.”

“Why? What happens at five-thirty?” Will asked, immediately suspecting some kind of evil supervillain plot. 

“Mom gets off work.” Warren hissed at him with a silent ‘duh’ at the end. 

“That’s right.” Battle confirmed, leading the pair down stairs and across the club floor to the main entrance. “And before I see her again this evening, I need to know what you meant when you said I didn’t give her the diamond.”

“What do you mean, what did I mean?” Asked Villain Son. “You just didn’t give her a diamond.”

Battle watched as Villain Son went right to his car, even though twenty years in the future Battle would have to have a different car, and it was doubtful that he would have any memories of the car his father had before he was born. He opened the passenger door and folded down the front seat so that Hero Son could climb in the back. Villain Son climbed into the front seat. Battle slid in on the driver’s side. 

“But I have a diamond.” He reminded his children. “A really, really nice one! I read that your supposed to spend two months worth of income on an engagement ring and the diamond is… pretty close to that. I had it checked and it’s not radioactive, or cursed, or poisoned. So, what went wrong? Is it going to be stolen? Should I be looking out for other supervillains?”

It was a fairly common thing for supervillains to use precious gems with high carats and good clarity in their doomsday weapons or lasers. 

In the backseat, Hero Son pursed his lips, as if thinking. “Mr-“ He cut himself off abruptly before beginning again. “May I ask where you got the diamond?”

“I picked it up during my last trip overseas.” Battle informed him, not sure where the boy was going with the question. 

Next to him, in the passenger seat, Villain Son sighed. “Did this place where you got it happen to be a third world country ravaged by civil war, in which the diamond industry is used to fund fascist governments that exploit the people?”

Hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as Battle frowned. “What does that matter?”

“It’s a blood diamond.” Villain Son concluded, as if this were all the answer that was needed. 

It was not all the answer Battle needed. “What does that have to do with anything?” He demanded. 

“Well, Flamebird’s a superhero.” Hero Son reminded him from the back seat. Battle thought it was a little odd he called her ‘Flamebird’ instead of ‘Mom’. But he was more focused on the conversation about the diamond. “Are you sure she’ll like the idea of you giving her a blood diamond as a token of your eternal love and devotion?”

“I hate to break it to you, Squirt,” Battle growled, “but all diamonds are blood diamonds. They’re all mined, or bought, shipped, cut, and sold, by heartless governments or companies that exploit the people. There’s no such thing as a ‘conflict free’ diamond.”

Next to him, Villain Son smirk. “I don’t mean to brag, but there have been multiple articles published about how we’re ‘single handedly killing the diamond industry’.”

Battle didn’t realize this was a joke on how the contemporary media of the time period they came from liked to vilify their generation for actually taking a moral stand with their purchases, and instead assumed it was his Villain Son bragging about the success of one of his Evil Plans. “And what’s the profit in killing the diamond industry?” He asked. “Do you own the patent on a diamond substitute? Or the mineral rights on land that contains different gems that are experiencing market rises thanks to your killing the diamond?”

“No. It’s about ethical business practices and not wanting to support cutthroat capitalism.” Announced the Hero Son from the back seat. 

So, Hero and Villain were working together. That was interesting. Collaborating on the same plan from two different sides. Working different angles and meeting in the middle. Maybe they weren’t a hero and a villain, maybe they were both neutral, but, like, different levels of neutral. Battle often said that ‘hero and villain’ were not opposite sides of the same coin, but rather, opposite ends of a spectrum. His children fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. One closer to the villain side, the other closer to the hero side, but both still in the middle. 

However, none of that was what Battle commented on. This was 1988 and the Cold War was still going on, in decline, but still on. Battle heard the ‘cutthroat capitalism’ comment and blurted out without thinking. “Wait a sec, are you a fucking Commie!?”

“Democratic socialist.” Hero Son corrected. 

Battle rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Next you’ll be telling me you’re dating a vegetarian!”

The atmosphere in the car became noticeably more tense. 

Will looked at the back of Warren’s head, and Warren looked up to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. It was a little hard for the younger man to read his expression through the mask he was wearing, but a moment of silent understanding still managed to pass between them. Both men silently agreeing not to tell Barron Battle about Layla. 

Warren cleared his throat. “Where are you taking us, Dad?”

Battle pulled into the underground parking garage of his building. “Home.” He said as if this should have been obvious? “You think I’m gonna take you kids to a restaurant dressed like that?”

They both looked at their costumes. Back in 2010 it wasn’t so odd for a superhero in full costume to walk into a greasy spoon diner, or a corner Starbucks and order a snack or coffee. But that was twenty-two years in the future. After the turn of the millennium, and a different generation had taken over setting the unwritten rules for what was and was not acceptable for a member of the super community. But in the 1980s, when control of the super community was transitioning from the Greatest Generation to the Baby Boomers, things were still a little more strict. 

Battle lead them to the elevator but it was Villain Son who pressed the correct floor button. So, he and Mara raised their children here, in the condo. Did the condo have enough space to raise two children? There was a second bedroom, but the boy would probably want their own rooms. The condo was 1,600 square feet. He could renovate. Cut into the open floorplan living room and put in a second bedroom… 

The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto their floor. Battle opened the door for them. 

The first thing Villain Son did upon entering, was cross the space to the balcony and look outside. He looked up, checking for flyers, then down, and both sides. Making sure no super was about to come floating onto the property. Then he came back inside and shut the balcony doors –and locked them. Battle hadn’t shut his balcony doors since he started living with Mara. Well, okay, they did shut them when it rained, or particularly high winds, or the semi-annual ice-villain attacks that blanketed the city in snow. But other than that, Battle never shut the balcony doors. It was the main way Mara got in and out of the condo. He wasn’t even sure she still had her keys by this point. 

“Worried about interruptions?” Battle asked. 

The younger man looked up at him. “Mom has a tendency to barge in on things.” He said, a bit of a shadow in his voice implying his mother has walked in on more than one thing he did not want her waling in on. “Unless you were planning to explain to the woman you hadn’t even proposed to yet that you’re having lunch with her children from the future and she’s predestined to be with you and has no other choice.”

“I would not phrase it like that!” Battle assured him. ‘No other choice’! That was something you said to your arch nemesis when you finally cornered him in your death trap and he had no way out. That was not something you said to the person you were planning to share the rest of your life with. 

“I agree with War- um, my brother.” Said Hero Son. “I don’t think there’s any way you can explain this without ending up scaring her away.”

They would know their mother. Battle knew her too. Mara was a mess, but she wanted stability from her life. She made it very clear when they decided to make their one-night-stand a more regular and consistent sexual relationship. She told him outright that she wanted a traditional marriage and children and she didn’t think she could have that with a supervillain, so when she stopped having fun with him, she would break up with him. At the time, Battle did not want those things, so he was fine with that. Now it was three years later and Battle rather liked the idea of marriage and children. So long as he had those things with her. 

But he was still a supervillain and she was still a hero. Part of having a ‘traditional’ marriage was also having a stable home life. Battle liked to think he could give her that stability. He certainly made enough money to give her comfort. But his hours were odd and inconsistent. His Plans often taking him over seas and around the world. And, there was always the odd, off-chance that he might be caught and arrested. That would not be very stable, and that was one aspect of being a supervillain that never changed. Mara and Battle’s marriage would be anything but traditional. 

And if she came home to meet her children from the future, she might feel trapped by her fate. Or pressured into a permanent life with him. And if she felt pressured, she would leave. Nobody could force Mara Peace to do something she did not want to do. 

Battle went into the kitchen and started taking out ingredients to make the exact same pancakes he made for their mother that very morning.

It was the single most surreal experience of Will’s life. Being in a supervillain’s home, being made breakfast by said supervillain. This was an experience they did not prepare him for in school. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. If he should sit. If he should remain standing. What he should do with his hands. What should he do with himself at all. 

Warren at least seemed more comfortable and… at home. 

He walked around the spartan living room. Noting the books on the shelves. The VHS tapes in the TV cabinet. The color of the carpet. The throw pillows he did not recognize. He went to crack open one of the doors off the living room and poked his head inside. 

“Looking for something?” Will slid up next to his friend and whispered low enough so that Barron Battle couldn’t hear. 

“Just seeing what my room was before it was my room.” He whispered back.

“You used to live here!” Will gasped a little bit louder than he meant to. This was a nice condo. He hadn’t passed his realtor’s exam for his licensee yet, but in their own time, a condo like this would be circling a million dollars! It was such a striking contrast to from where Warren currently lived back in their own time. A little run down one story house in one of the poor neighborhoods of the city. 

Warren closed the door to the room he was looking in. “It was a long time ago.” 

“Need something from the armory?” Battle called from the kitchen, shouting across the condo. 

No one in Will house shouted from room to room. If they needed something from someone in another room, they walked into that room and used their inside voices like civilized people!

“No.” Warren called back, matching his father’s volume. “Just looking.”

Battle put two plates stacked with pancakes up on the counter. “Come eat before it gets cold.”

Will and Warren exchanged a look. They hadn’t eaten anything since they woke up, and it wasn’t like there was anything better they had to do. The only thing they needed to do was be ready when the mad scientist arrived to send them back to their own time. Until then, what else were they going to do with their time? Battle already knew they were from the future, so that damage was done. At least this way they had another person besides the Broker who knew what they were going through. 

They both sat at the kitchen bar. 

Warren reached for the red pepper sauce before Battle even finished pulling it out. He loaded his pancakes up with the spicy sauce. Fire users liked it hot and Warren Peace was no exception. 

Will looked at the other offered condiments. Syrup, butter, and marmalade. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any whip cream and strawberries.”

Battle paused, looking at him oddly. 

Warren also looked up. He glanced from his father to his friend. 

There was a beat. 

“We don’t have that fancy hero crap here.” Warren finally said. He glared at Will then flicked his eyes at Battle. It was impossible for his friend to see the action, however, on account of his mask. Warren prayed the other man was smart enough to pick up on the cue. “Eat your butter like a normal person!”

He held the other man’s eyes for a moment longer. 

Then Will finally got it. He grabbed the syrup and drizzled it over his pancakes, the whole time looking unhappy. “As soon as we get back to 2010, I’m gonna eat a whole can of whipped cream.”

“You do that.” Warren nodded, taking a bite of his own pancakes. 

Battle came around to sit at the kitchen bar with them. Squeezing in on the side next to his villain son whom scooted over to make room for him. Perhaps he should invest in an actual dining table. When it was just himself and Mara they didn’t need one. The two of them could sit at the bar comfortable and rub thighs as they ate. But, sitting with his children, Battle realized, he’d much rather be able to see their faces as they talked. Families that had meals together should have a family dining table. 

“Swinging back to the diamond,” he said, “you’re saying I didn’t give your mother the diamond because I was afraid she wouldn’t want a blood diamond.”

“She would prefer conflict free.” Villain Son confirmed. 

“There’s no such thing-“ Battle began but was cut off by his Hero Son. 

“It just seems like giving her a blood diamond shows a distinct law of consideration for her own values and beliefs.” He explained. “If you’re actually gonna claim to love someone, you have to be considerate of the things that they care about. Otherwise, you’re just an asshole.”

Battle frowned. Everything the hero said was completely true and he hated that such wisdom was coming from his Hero Son instead of his villain son. But he deflected the comment. “Are heroes allowed to use that kind of language in your time?”

“Oh, yeah!” Agreed Villain Son. “Heroes are even allowed to say ‘fuck’! They’re allowed one ‘fuck’ per case.”

“You just said it twice.” Hero pointed out. 

“Yeah, but he’s not a hero.” Battle jumped in to defend his older boy. “Villains can curse as much as they want. Nobody expects us to be remodels.” He cleared his throat. He wanted to stay on topic. “Okay, so, if I don’t give her the diamond, what do I give her?”


	7. Not So Neat and Tidy

“Okay, so, if I don’t give her the diamond, what do I give her?” Battle asked. 

Villain Son looked him dead-ass in the eyes. Or, at least, Battle assumed he was looking him in the eyes. Honestly it was a little hard to tell with the whited-out lenses of his mask. A mask that was almost identical to Mara’s Flamebird mask apart from the color. “You know we can’t tell you.”

“Okay, but supposing you did…” Battle pressed. 

“We won’t.” Hero Son announced. 

Battle peered across his older son at the younger one. The light hitting his glasses just right so that the boy couldn’t see his eyes behind the lenses. It actually made Battle more terrifying than if he could read his whole expression. 

He stammered something unintelligible, looking about as nervous under the older man’s gaze as he sounded. 

“You and Mom tell two very different proposal stories.” Explained Villain Son. “Two stories that contradict each other.”

Battle opened his mouth to ask another question. 

“Neither version included a diamond.” He added quickly. 

Battle pouted. Actually, pouted. Like a child. 

Villain Son finished his last bite of spicy pancake and got up to carry his own plate into the kitchen. Battle watched as he turned on the hot water tap and began filling the sink with soapy water to wash it. He also grabbed Hero Son’s plate out from under him before the younger man was finished eating, and began washing that one too. It was nice to see that one of his children at least, learned to clean up after themself. 

He even grabbed the frying pan off the stove and the mixing bowls and washed those too!

When he was done, he turned off the tap and lit his hands on fire to dry them. Then looked at the clock. “Anyway, isn’t there some place you have to be?”

Battle also looked at the kitchen lock and realized he was right. If he wanted to be on time to pick Mara up from work, Battle would have to leave right now. His time with his future children was cut short, and Battle still had so many questions!

Villain Son grabbed his flying brother and dragged him to the locked balcony doors. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

…

Barron was on time and waiting for Mara when she got off work. Of course he would be, Barron was always on time. Punctual and dependable. Perfect if they ever did have kids. Mara could always trust him to drop off or pick-up said hypothetical child from school, and never have to worry. Once again, Barron did seem like ideal husband and father material. 

…except for the whole supervillain thing.

She slid into the passenger seat next to him, leaned over the stick shift, and gave him a ‘hello’ kiss. On the cheek. A ‘hello’ kiss on the cheek, not the mouth. 

“Rough day?” He asked. She usually was no so reserved with her affection. 

“Just have a lot on my mind is all.” Mara told him honestly. 

“Me too.” Battle admitted right back. 

They drove back to the condo in relative silence. That was nothing new. Sometimes when he was working on a new Evil Plan, or she was working a particularly difficult case they didn’t chat on the drive after work. That was one of their rules. She didn’t try to stop his villainy, and he didn’t interfere with her superhero work. Only this time, it wasn’t a case she was figuring out, it was the dilemma of whether or not she should break up to him; and it wasn’t an Evil Plan he was working on, it was how to propose to her. 

Mara started tripping out of her work clothes the moment she was inside the condo. Battle hadn’t even shut the door all the way before she was kicking off her shoes and pulling off her sweater. 

She left a trail behind her as she moved. Shoes, followed by the sweater, followed by her blouse, pencil skirt, stockings, her bra. Wearing only her panties only, Mara went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Selecting a bottled drink, she popped the top and chugged it quickly, a few drops leaking out and sliding down her bare neck to trickle down her equally bare breast. 

Battle didn’t even notice. His attention was focused on cleaning up after her. Picking up her discarded clothing and making sure it made its way into the hamper. 

Slowing down on her drink a little, Mara watched him, appreciating the view. A man that cleaned up, not just after himself, but after her too, was a rare thing. Worth keeping. Definitely marriage material. Except- Barron liked things very clean and children were messy. Children were very, very messy. Would fastidious and tidy Barron Battle be able to handle having the counters smeared with pureed baby-food their baby didn’t want to eat? Or spit-up. Children puked almost as much as they pooped. And diapers! 

Hell, he got tense and moody when she forgot to use a coaster!

“Hey, Bambi,” she began, floating out of the kitchen to flop down on the couch, “how’s that OCD of yours?”

Barron poked his head out of the bedroom where he was tucking everything down into the hamper. “It’s not a compulsive disorder to keep the floors clear.”

“Mm.” She offered a placating smile, made eye-contact with him, then –slowly- set her bottled drink down on the coffee table. Without using a coaster.

A vein in his neck pulsed. 

His face made no identifiable expression. 

He was quiet a moment. 

He took a breath. 

Then, very calmly, “Sparky, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” She batted her eyelashes and smiled at him, playing the ditzy bimbo. 

She was good at playing the ditzy bimbo, but Barron knew that it was exactly that, playing. If she was playing it at home then she was playing with him. 

He came around the couch and selected coaster from the holder –that was very clearly placed in the center of the table- and slid it under her bottle. 

“Oops! Silly me.” She giggled. “And they were right in front of me too.”

Mara tapped the coaster holder, poking it hard enough to move it a fraction of an inch out of the exact center of the table. 

That vein in his neck pulsed again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Random compulsion check.” She told him honestly. “Hey, how would you react if someone just picked up the whole coaster holder and threw them up in the air?”

The vein in his neck twitched again. “I… would… make- ask!- them to pick them back up. Politely.” He answered stintingly. 

“Mm.” Mara nodded at him, crossing one leg over the other. She lifted her drink off its coaster and put it to her lips, taking her time to sip it slowly. “What if it was a person who doesn’t understand?”

“Why wouldn’t they understand?” He asked. “If they’re in my home they should be someone I already know and trust, so they should understand that throwing shit in the air and making a mess is not okay. I get that not everyone is as neat as I am. But even you didn’t just start breaking shit the first time you came over.”

“What if they’re a child.” She asked. 

“Oh.” Battle did a full stop. Even his posture changed. “A child. Our child? Well. Obviously, that’s different. I would- explain to them why they shouldn’t throw things.”

“Mm.” She said again. 

That was –technically- a correct answer. But there was a big difference between knowing the answer to a question under quiet circumstances in comfort of an already clean living room, and remembering the correct thing to do when faced with a loud, screaming, child in the throws of a tantrum (possibly with superpowers involved). 

Mara drained her drink, and left the empty bottle on the table (on the coaster this time), and stood. “Okay, well, I’m gonna head out for patrol.” She announced. “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

Pulling her purse over to her, she fished out the wadded up pieces of her costume and slipped it on. A quick trip to the bedroom to get her boots, then Flamebird was flying out the balcony doors. 

She said she would patrol, and she would. Flamebird would fly around the city and if someone needed the help of a fire-wielder, she would help them. But, mostly, she needed to just fly around and clear her head. She needed to think. 

Baron was a really nice guy. To her. He was a really nice guy to her. And she did really like him. A lot. She liked him a lot. He cooked, he washed the dishes, he picked up the floors and did the laundry. He was good in bed, and that was important too. He was wealthy. And he was tall… 

But all that cleanliness was to a degree that would not allow for messy creatures like babies in the home. Picking up her laundry off the floor was one thing. But vomit and urine were very, very different kinds of messes to pick up. And if they did have kids, how much would she actually get to enjoy him in bed? Wouldn’t they both rather just sleep if they were given the opportunity? His money would make things easier. They could hire a nanny or something. Except his wealth was all blood money.

Because Barron Battle was a supervillain. 

And that was it. 

That statement should be the end of it. He was a supervillain. He was a bad guy. 

Flamebird –Mara Peace- was a superhero. She was a good guy. 

She could not marry a supervillain. 

That had to be the decision she made. There really wasn’t any other acceptable alternative. 

She had to break-up with Barron Battle. 

…

Elsewhere, Warren was with Will back at Divide. Getting ready for another night working to pay for their room and board at the Broker’s club. 

Will was carrying tables –lots of tables, they were taking advantage of his super strength- when he looked over and saw Warren stagger suddenly and lean against the bar he was delivering clean glasses to. The Bartender took the large rack of glass out of his hands before Warren could drop them. 

Setting down the stack of tables, Will crossed the space to his friend. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” Warren assured him, looking more confused than anything else. “I just got weirdly dizzy for a second there. Like, the world wasn’t lining up quite right. I’m good now. I feel fine.”

Will only continued to look concerned. “Okay… if you’re sure…” 

He hoped that mad scientist the Broker mentioned was already on their way arrived soon. The past was weird enough as it was. He didn’t want anything new or bad happening before they got home.


End file.
